Worth The Wait

Hello dear readers!

Sunday mornings are one of my favourite times of the week. A time of calm, a time of modest indulgences (second cup of coffee, you say? Oh, go on then), a time when the stresses and strains of life are put firmly to the back of my tiny little mind.

It won’t last.

Friday saw the end of the training course at my new workplace and, from tomorrow morning I’ll be expected to actually do something resembling the actual job. This means that, as the day progresses, the nerves are bound to kick in. It also means that Friday night saw your friendly neighbourhood seated person attend a night out to celebrate this transition as well as the birthday of one of the training group. It did not get off to a particularly good start.

An Uphill Struggle
Upon leaving the office a choice of routes is available to get to the small leisure park that was our first destination. One of these being longer and decidedly uphill. The second, far easier route takes you through the local bus/train depot. Access to this is gained by going down and under the train station itself. There is one lift. It wasn’t working.

Frustrated, and quickly losing the main party myself and two of my lovely team mates were forced to retrace our steps, cut back through the office, out the other side and tackle the hill. Teamwork made the dream work.

Strike None

The night started with bowling. Now, long term sufferers of this blog will possibly recall that bowling is not exactly my forte. If I’m perfectly honest I don’t even think it’s my twenty. You can read about my previous misadventures with the game here. For now though I think it’s best just to say that I managed a paltry 62 and got no strikes or spares but, on the plus side, no injuries either. Emboldened by this I decided to up the risk factor and hit the bar.

Alright, you caught me. I had partaken just a smidge already. It was at this point in the night though that some of the party decided to call it a night. I’m not entirely sure what could have been more enticing than spending a few more hours in the company of an increasingly inebriated bunch of blokes (a little light rectal surgery perhaps?) but the ladies of the party seemed to find something and left us en masse.

House Rules

So it was that after a few games of pool (not me) and a couple of drinks (me), a small but plucky band made their way out into the night. The next stop was the casino. I stayed strong. Knowing that any money spent here would deplete precious drinking funds and that Tina, my rather lovely wife, would spend considerable time and effort in explaining exactly how bad my decision making was. Possibly there would be some visual aids, or practical learning involved. It would almost certainly come up in conversation again.

 

Surprisingly, the casino was very accessible. A lift (working!) gained access to the main floor, although there were a couple of steps to navigate to get to the roulette and blackjack tables. These could be conquered by means of a stair lift or the less conventional throwing the wheelchair down the stairs and hobbling after it. I’ll let you guess which I chose.

After that though the place was completely ramped. The toilets, although missing a dedicated disabled loo, were accessible, and the gaming tables at a good height. If only more bars were designed on the same principles.

The Beer Soaker
The night finished of more traditionally, with a visit to a bar. A fire alarm allowed for some unexpected excitement and whilst sitting outside in the cold I decided to make my merry way for the traditional kebab before heading for home and attempting to get from taxi to bed without waking Tina. A feat I am yet to manage in almost five years of marriage. This is where things got interesting.

I am working at the moment, in Bradford, a city I’m not really all that familiar with. I therefore enquired of my workmates where the late night eateries of this fair city could be located. I did this with the intention of then toddling off on my own to eat, book a taxi, and exit stage left... I was soon disabused of this notion.

The guys I asked would have none of it. I was not going to head off on my own. They would accompany me. So it was that, despite my protestations, three of us headed of on a kebab hunt.

Das Car Boot
After a couple of false starts we eventually found a place ordered our food and I got my phone out, ready to call my local tax firm. Now Mirfield, my base of operations, is some ten miles or more from Bradford. As soon as I mentioned that I was going to use a Mirfield taxi company then, objections were raised. It would take too much time, I was told, to get a taxi from there to here. It would be much quicker to get a local Bradford firm.

That was the theory anyway.

As it was, despite the best efforts of my colleagues, who tried everything possible to obtain me transport home, it proved extremely difficult. The first car pulled up on time, a fee already agreed, took one look at the wheelchair and decided that his boot was too full to carry it. I’m not sure what was wrong with his conspicuously empty back seat. Possibly it had a crippling fear of wheelchairs and would flee the car should my chariot so much as touch it. Possibly the driver didn’t want the additional hassle, work, or potential wear and tear on his upholstery. One is certainly more likely than the other.

Shop Local

Whatever the case, I was then turned down by two other drivers, one of whom claimed to have an existing booking but who drove off after a short wait without a fare. A local rank around the corner was investigated by my wonderful companions, but an exorbitant amount was quoted for the trip (Ten pounds more than I’d paid to get in to work that morning!). Eventually I fell back on my original plan and rang the local firm from Mirfield. It’s taken time but they are getting to know me and started to send cars that, although not always ideal, at least manage to get me and the wheelchair to where we need to go. The drivers are forewarned and tend to be helpful too, which is good.

Maybe it’s better to stick with what you know in these circumstances. In the end it took longer to get home than it would have done if I’d just done that in the first place. It was definitely worth the wait.

Until next time...

Thoughts? Suggestions? Any comments are more than welcome below. Thanks for reading,