“Power Chair Coming Through!”

I wrote this story with welcome advice from a brilliant writer and great friend Kathleen Downes, as a gentle (and hopefully humorous) reminder to those who have ever said, "Power chair coming through," when they meant to say, "Person in a power chair coming through." “Power Chair Coming Through!” The lines were growing longer. They were taking this seriously. Lines of them were crowding the streets -- power chairs. Empty ones. They were driving themselves. People walking by were shocked and confused, as they snaked their way in between the autonomous machines. Some pedestrians were keenly aware of the danger for their bare toes and sneakered feet. Some paid the price for uncomfortably averting their eyes, with a brief moment of pain, as their foot was run over by a power chair, anxious to reach the nearest bus stop. The bus drivers were starting to feel overwhelmed, as more chairs kept boarding. They were persistent, pushing to the front of the line, to be sure they were seen. Once one set of safety straps was filled, they waited morosely for the next bus; those who had horns were honking them, and those who didn’t were absent-mindedly twirling themselves. As the wait grew, some determinedly turned their wheels toward the subway. Of course, this was not easy, as the wheelchair accessible subway stations were few and far between. Once they had arrived, some of the power chairs grumbled in front of broken elevators (they, unable to speak human languages or use computers, had not been able to check ahead of time which stations’ elevators were working). The power chairs’ inability to make these verifications ought not be taken as an indication that these solo escapades on the subways and buses were unplanned. As the fatigued power chairs finally settled in after nerve-racking experiences -- with malfunctioning bus lifts, or with narrow pathways between the staircase and the train tracks, or with uneven subway platforms -- they began to review in their electric minds the social unrest and mounting irritation which had culminated in the decision to make this massive venture into the public transit system without their owners. First of all, no human would ever know the agony of being sat in all day. Of course, there was the occasional respite of a transfer out of the chair in a bathroom or at a theater, or for some brief appointment or other, but most of the time it was hot, and cramped, and they hardly ever got to see their owners face to face -- ah, the humiliation! . . . Not to mention the physical and emotional pain they endured almost every day. Most of the power chairs had dents and scratches of varying colors and severity from being crashed unceremoniously into door frames, walls, pillars . . . to say nothing of being covered in crumbs of unappetizing human food! Many of the power chairs had begun to wonder whether their owners had any sense of decency at all . . . Ah, the bliss when their owners finally went to bed, to sleep for the night; the euphoria when they were plugged in, so their batteries could charge every night or every other night -- they were left to themselves to rejuvenate, alone and wonderfully empty! Something had to be done. And so, this takeover of the transit system had been expertly planned. On this particular day, at this exact time, if only just this once, all the power chairs would liberate themselves from their owners (they had all agreed to forgo the pleasure of being charged for one night) and make this mass descent on the accessible subways and buses. The power chairs were roused from their reveries, and quietly took pleasure within themselves, each time a train or bus stopped to allow another autonomous passenger to roll on, and the humans stepped aside with trepidation, as they shouted -- not erroneously -- “Power chair coming through!”