(Sorry for the long post, but it’s important to me, so if you have a few spare minutes, please read and take the time to comment. Thanks!)

    It should be no secret by now that I’m a toe amputee. But in case you’re new, I should probably elaborate. When I was 16 my left big toe was amputated due to a rather horrendous bone infection. (For more details, go here.) I’m really not all that sensitive about my No-Toe, as I call it. I walk around barefoot all the time, I generally don’t care when people see my feet, it’s just one of those sad facts of life that sometimes our bodies aren’t what we hope they would be. I’ve accepted that fact. Actually, I can have a good laugh over that fact. When my lack of a toe came up in conversation with the three young women I was staying with in San Francisco, one of the girls got this befuddled look on her face and in all sincerity said to me, “But… you don’t fall over…” She was genuinely confused and amazed that only having nine toes hadn’t turned me into some kind of weeble. While most people in my condition might be taken aback by such a statement, I found it hilarious.

    But there are some aspects of living with only nine toes that I don’t find quite so funny. While Eve needn’t have worried that I’d lose my balance and tumble right over due to my lack of a big toe, it’s not like I’m about to climb Mount Everest. I’m not as physically able as I used to be. To put it plainly, I am handicapped. I have the license plates to prove it. I can walk, most of the time without anyone noticing my deformity, but that does not change the fact that my left foot is now extremely fragile. For instance, if someone were to step on my foot, it could shatter quite easily.

    It is for this reason that when I travel by plane, I always ask to preboard the flight. Crowded jet plane aisleways are an invitation to disaster for me. All those people cramming onto a plane, impatiently pushing and shoving each other with heavy luggage, all threatening to make one wrong move and shatter my foot. Preboarding has never been a problem before – I’d approach a gate agent, explain politely that I’m handicapped, and sweetly ask to board with the other disabled passengers.

    Apparently as of May 21st, American Airlines has adopted a new attitude toward the disabled. Flying out to California was an absolute nightmare. I flew out of Washington Dulles International Airport at 6:47 in the morning, arriving early like all good passengers should. Everything started out swimmingly when I asked the first gate agent, who was polite and kind. But when the time came to preboard and I approached the door as instructed, another gate agent greeted me by shoving her hand out at me and telling me to back off. When I told her that I was handicapped and had already been approved for preboarding, she looked me over from head to stump and said forcefully, “You look fine to me, you don’t need it.”

    Flabbergasted, I kindly explained that I am an amputee. She cocked an eyebrow at me and again stated her opinion that I looked fine. I stood there in front of every passenger crowded around the gate, their attention turned toward me as I explained that I had lost part of my foot to a painful, debilitating bone infection. As I tried to ignore everyone else around me, this woman again looked me over and said as she waved her hand, “Oh, my Mother had that, and she was fine. You’re young, you look like you’re doing well enough to me. You don’t need it.” Starting to get upset, I said as forcefully and yet as calmly as I could, “Look, if someone steps on my foot, it’ll break!” In the gate agent’s ultimate wisdom and compassion, she graciously allowed me to board with First Class. While this was slightly better than boarding with coach, it wasn’t exactly helpful, as I was rushed down a steep jetway by hurried businessmen, eager to sit in their big comfy seats.

    I was upset. Not upset to the point of breaking down in tears, but still mighty peeved. All I could think about was all of the many teenage girls I’ve counseled over the years who have lost toes and how unhappy they are with their situation. I’ve known many young people who can’t even think about it without being brought to tears. If this had happened to any one of them, they would have broken down in the face of such interrogation.

    Unfortunately, things didn’t get any better. Toward the end of the flight I got up to use the facilities and went right up to the first class lavatories. Since I was handicapped and seated at the very front of the plane, I didn’t think this would be a problem. However, when I reached the lavatories, a flight attendant physically got in my way and said quite rudely, “What are you doing?” When I explained my situation and politely asked to use these bathrooms as opposed to the others all the way in the back of the plane, she too looked me over head and stump. Her reaction? “No. Go to the back of the plane.”

    Mighty peeved transformed into royally peeved as I stood in front of all of first class and was forced to explain to this woman that part of my foot is missing and that if she forced me to traverse the entire length of the plane, she would be risking the structural integrity of what was left of my foot. I argued with this woman, had to stare her down and listen to her repeat several times that I was not handicapped, that I had to go to the back of the plane, and so on and so forth. I was humiliated as businessmen put down their Wall Street Journals to stare at the show being put on at my expense. After I told her flat out that I would not go to the back of the plane, because if I did and my foot was broken, I would hold her and the company responsible, she finally – *finally* – let me into the bathroom.

    No one should have to endure this sort of intolerance, no disabled individual should be so interrogated, especially not in front of a crowd of strangers. Naturally I brought all of this to the attention of an executive at American Airlines, who of course was so ridiculously apologetic and made all sorts of grandiose promises so that I wouldn’t file a complaint. Because after all, in the process of operating a single flight from DC to Dallas, their employees successfully violated two regulations from two separate government associations – the FAA and the Americans with Disabilities Act. That’s quite an accomplishment, don’t you think? What would you do if your organization had accomplished so much hatred so efficiently? Don’t you think you’d bend over backwards to make amends and avoid any potential fines from the United States government? You’d think so, wouldn’t you?

    Clearly American Airlines would not agree with you, because they did not live up to those grandiose promises. What did I receive in exchange for my humiliation, public degredation, and blatant discrimination? First class on the way home from San Francisco to make sure this wouldn’t be an issue? Nope. A written apology? Nu huh. Assistance in the airport and through my connecting flights home so that this wouldn’t happen again? Goodness no. The cost of my ticket refunded to me in order to make up for the pain I suffered at their hand? Don’t make me laugh.

    $100. One hundred dollars. In a travel voucher. A domestic travel voucher. For a ticket that cost $384 of my good money, for public humiliation, they expect me to accept a $100 travel voucher apology. On behalf of all amputees everywhere, let me tell you, I feel so much better about American Airlines behavior after having been bought off with less than a third of the cost of my original fare. This shows such a huge lack of appreciation and understanding for the pain and suffering that millions of disabled Americans go through every day at the hand of such ill-trained employees as the ones working for American Airlines. Millions of people in this country are handicapped in such a way that it may not be readily apparent to others. Just because I’m not in a wheelchair doesn’t mean I’m any less worthy of accommodation. This was an inappropriate and insulting response to a faux-pas grand enough that they violated several laws and regulations. You’d think they’d care.

    At this point I’m not sure what I’d want them to do. But all I can say is, next time you come across someone who says they’re handicapped in some way, be understanding, be kind, and be considerate. Be mindful of those who may be disabled but who may not show it.