At the Crossing

Here we are again at the hospital crossing. It's a horrible place and we both hate it. There are two lanes of traffic moving by at 80 kilometers per hour with an island in the middle, and a stoplight that is so short that you would have to fly across the street in order to get across in time. When you are halfway in the middle of the road the light changes, and drivers start to gun their motors, mgetting ready to bolt. And when one lane of traffic is standing we mustn't be fooled and start walking because the other is still whizzing by and has a green light! It's a lot of work and concentration to figure out when to cross and Bracha has to work hard at it. She knows: when the traffic coming out of the hospital at the 12:00 position starts moving, it's our green light.

So here we are again, the traffic coming out of the hospital has just started coming out, and that means it's our turn to cross. Off we go, and we get to the island. Bracha waits for the traffic in back of us to start moving and then lifts up her hand to signal me to start walking. But not fast enough for these people, who are always eager to point out our deficiencies. Suddenly a voice calls out from one of the cars: "Nu, you have the green light! Why doesn't he tell you to cross?" First of all, your light changes before theirs does. Second of all, I'm a she, not a he. and third of all, Bracha has to tell me to cross. Not the opposite. Wen will people learn?

When we get on the bus the driver asks Bracha to go to the back with her dog, but Bracha says she'll sit where there is a free space and sits in the front seat by the door. My favorite spot! I gaze out the window happily and Bracha praises me and gives me a treat.

And here we are again at the bank. We go up the stairs and there is a machine there for getting a slip of paper with a number on it to wait in line. But the machine has a touch screen that Bracha can't read. I can see she's beginning to get frustrated. There is no one around from the bank staff to help get a number out of the machine. Finally we stand in front of the machine and Bracha says, "Can someone please help me get a number?" A few clerks look up from their work but none move. Finally a man comes over and punches his finger at the screen and gets a number out. Then we sit down.

It seems that people at the bank are determined to make things almost as difficult as crossing the road at the hospital. Bracha can't read the badly printed number on the little slip of paper, so she asks the man next to her what humber she has. Now there is a dinging noise from the desks and a person gets up and goes to sit down. Bracha asks what number is next. There is a bigt screen up high and of course, need I say, it's too far away to see. Then a nice lady in a purple dress tells Bracha that her turn is next. Then the dinging noise sounds again and Bracha asks where to go. Evidently the screen tells people where to go, but ah yes, Bracha can't see the screen. We run around till we find the teller who has just become free. What a production. She tells the man, "I know it's not your fault, but there are a lot of problems here with accessability. I'm going to write a letter to the bank's customer service." The man agrees. Then he passes Bracha a piece of paper and asks her to sign it. Bracha asks him to show her where and he points to a place on the paper. This is also a pain in the neck and I can tell that Bracha just wants to get out of there.

I know that Bracha and most of her friends who have dogs like to do things for themselves. But being in the bank is sort of like the obstacle course we had to walk at Beit Oved.