Yesterday I felt truly at home, here on the other side of the world.
It absolutely pissed down. How British.
"What the hell am I doing drinking in L.A. at 26?" Sheltering from the rain. That's what.
And as if that wasn't enough... I spent over an hour waiting for a bus with a lift that worked. I really felt like I was back in London. Except of course for the fact that I was having to wait for the bus on the other side of the road.
The one thing to constantly remind me that I was, indeed, in America, was the fact that as I waited for my bus:
1) No-one asked me if I needed any help crossing the road.
2) No small children pointed and stared.
3) None of the passing dogs started yapping at me because they've never seen a wheelchair before.
In America, we can get everywhere (hell, even the Lush store a block from my hostel is accessible. You know you're in a crip friendly country if you can get in a Lush with ease), so, we are everywhere.
As a result, your average American is used to seeing us wheelies everywhere and doesn't look at you like you're a piece of modern art on wheels.
When I did finally board a bus, only one person on board did an owl impression (the head rotation) to see how the lift worked liked they'd never seen a crip getting on a bus before.
You know. I could get used to this...