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My last Post was about the lack of curb cuts in Manhattan and the inconvenience that can cause a person who relies on a motorized scooter or wheelchair to get around the city. I hope you found it interesting, and perhaps even a little enjoyable. Today I want to pick up where I left off and tell you what happened when I got to my destination, the brand new New York Times building. I was meeting a friend for lunch in a lovely restaurant located inside the building and assumed a building barely a year old would be easy to navigate so I never thought to call and ask about accessibility. Well this lends truth to the old adage that says, “When you assume you make an ass of you and me!” In other words, never assume.
My friend told me to enter the building on 40th Street, between 7th and 8th Avenues, closer to 8th. In my last posting, A New Pet Peeve, you can read about my travels to the building, but it was a beautiful day and I enjoyed the time I spent riding my scooter across the southern edge of Central Park and the 19 blocks down 7th Avenue, through Times Square. So I will now take you on the adventure I had when I reached my destination:
I pull up to the 4 large doors that I figure is the main entrance to the building and can see a large plaza inside, which is where I assume I want to go. I am very surprised to find that this new building that has not only the NY Times, but many other businesses and services housed in it, does not have automatic doors, or at least a button I can push to open the door from the outside. Once again I am put in the unenviable position of having to sit facing the doors waiting for someone to go in or come out so I can ask him or her to hold it open for me. (See Heavy Door Dilemma I posted in 11/08) If the doors opened in I would have attempted to push it open with my scooter but I’ve found that most doors that large are very heavy and even if I can open it, then I have the problem of keeping it open long enough for me to get my entire scooter through it. It may not sound difficult but borrow a scooter, somehow restrict your ability to turn all the way around, go to the doors into a large office building, and try it. Trust me, it isn’t easy.
A nice man finally approaches the door and I ask if he would please hold the door for me, and as usual he is happy to. Before I go in, however, I ask him if this is the right entrance for the restaurant I am going to — I see signs for two other restaurants but not the one I want — and he says no. No problem, I still have fifteen minutes before I am scheduled to meet my friend. This nice man instructs me to go around the block to 41th Street and I will find the entrance to the restaurant immediately past the large set of doors he points to across the inside plaza. Great, I thought, that isn’t far.
I zip around the corner, still enjoying the weather and happy I am a little early and will have time to go to the ladies room and brush my hair and refresh my lipstick. I pass the large set of doors and come upon the entrance to the restaurant, which has a doorman standing outside. Great, I won’t have to wait for someone to open the door. This is beginning to make up for the lack of curb cuts I encountered on my ride here, I muse.
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