Part 1: When do a table and toilet mean inclusion

Author’s Note: This piece is part one of a two-part series exploring accessibility through everyday experiences. It sets the scene for what comes next - a satirical “Terms and Conditions” of public participation. I’d recommend reading this one first to get the context before diving into Part 2: Terms and Conditions of Access.

Being a writer means I get to use words like ‘toilet’ in the heading of my article and still make it relevant. I consider it a privilege, to talk about something so ordinary and have it mean something much larger. Because, in the world of accessibility, the ordinary things are often the hardest to reach.

A table.

A toilet.

Two of humanity’s most extraordinary ordinary inventions, quietly deciding who gets to belong and who gets left outside.

A few weeks ago, I spoke to someone who knows exactly what it means when furniture decides your options. Born in Tehran, now working in Melbourne, Saman spent years navigating cities that weren’t built with him in mind. Back in Tehran, he moved with two crutches, not out of preference, but practicality, and only started using a wheelchair in Melbourne.

On paper, Melbourne looks like a dream for accessibility. There are ramps, wide footpaths, automatic doors, and the like. But look closer, and you’ll find the ramp ends in a step, the “accessible” bathroom doubles as storage, and the café with the perfect flat entrance has tables clearly designed by someone who’s never had to sit at one.

Melbourne looks good on accessibility reports, but the experience tells a different story.

Carrying on the conventional example of a restaurant, the staff rush to pull out a chair, or clear a path. It’s well-intentioned, sure, but the tone lands somewhere between overly-helpful and mildly theatrical. Because the truth is, nobody wants to be treated like a special episode of kindness. Sometimes, the kindest thing you can do is act like it’s not a big deal.

Accessibility, as it turns out, is often treated as an afterthought or a token gesture, something added to tick a compliance box like the DDA (Disability Discrimination Act) police will conduct a surprise inspection.

So, in honour of the quiet absurdities that make up the lived experience of “access,” I present a mock “contract” or Blog Part 2 - a humble attempt at satire to bring to light some of the things that should never have been overlooked in the first place.