My account of a regular Saturday night out has caused outrage. But no amount of prejudice will keep me from the dancefloor
Tue 26 Mar 2019 18.26 GMT
Last modified on Tue 26 Mar 2019 18.31 GMT
It has been a weird week. On Saturday night, I went out in London and it did not end well. Why? Because I went on this night out in my wheelchair. I was refused entry to a nightclub because bouncers said the music would be “too rowdy” for me, and then was roundly mocked by members of the public for waiting for my friends outside a chicken shop, which obviously was not accessible. People pointed and laughed, a drunk man offered to spin me round in my chair, which was quite sweet. All I wanted was some fried chicken.
On Monday morning, I came into work and told some of my colleagues at BBC Newsnight about my disastrous night out. They were horrified. For me, though, these experiences are relatively common – being a wheelchair-user makes you a magnet for leery drunk people, and access problems often scupper the best-laid plans. But I began to realise that those around me were completely unaware of these issues.
Experiences that are semi-regular for me caused outrage when I described them on Twitter. One of the saddest things, though, has been the response of other disabled people, many of whom have called the story “all too familiar”.
Things are so bad on the nightlife scene because of what I like to call the tyranny of low expectations. Society, consciously or otherwise, does not expect disabled people to socialise after dark. My friends and I like to joke that I am seen as some sort of reverse vampire: I can only be seen in the light. My appearance in a club, therefore, seems out of place and, inhibitions lowered, people feel free to express surprise – they usually mean well, but it reminds me that in their eyes I do not belong.
In a world desperate to show itself as inclusive, disabled people live with a backdrop of discrimination. I have become so used to shrugging off comments and being unable to go to the toilet, get on the Tube, or access a shop that it often takes my able-bodied friends to make a fuss before I really notice. I know my disabled friends feel the same.
The club I went to has apologised and pledged to retrain its staff, although it placed the blame firmly on third-party contractors. It has invited me back for some freebies, but I shan’t be returning.
Nevertheless, I am looking forward to my next night out. I have great friends and I love to dance. I will not succumb to society’s grim assumptions. I will live the way I want to. And I will see you on the dancefloor.
