Louise and The Men of Transit

Letting Go

"Excuse me . . . Lou?"

Louise found herself face to face with a woman staring right at her chest through large glasses, her thick curly hair blowing in the north wind coming down the tracks towards Davisville station. Louise had left work shortly after her talk with Jim. She hadn't been able to focus on the form letter he'd wanted her to fill in. She'd forgotten she had her nametag on. She wanted to rip it off now. She didn't want to help anyone.

"Excuse me, but which way is the exit?" The woman persisted, now almost nose-to-nose with her. Louise didn't move, simply raised her right arm and pointed down the platform to the rather obvious stairs.

"I'm sorry, but I only have central vision. I can't see anything but what's right in front of me. Can you help me?"

Louise wanted to ask her why she didn't have a white cane.

"I don't like to use a white cane, it makes me stand out," the woman said, not moving from her help-me stance.

Louise brooded, is she a mind reader? She berated herself: don't be so angry, Louise. She's not who you're angry with. Tears spurted into Louise's eyes, glistening her brown irises and her reddened corneas. She blinked the wetness back. Help her, she told herself. You're still part of the TTC Team.

"You turn to your left and walk down the platform to the stairs. They'll be right in front of you."

"I'm afraid of falling off the platform," the woman divulged in well-recited tones. "Could you guide me?"

Louise looked at the yellow safety strip behind the woman and wondered why she couldn't follow its edge.

The woman seeing Louise unmoving, added, "The TTC inset tiles into the platform for the visually impaired to follow, but they end in strange places, and then I get lost. The one here ended at a glass panel, I didn't know where to go next. I ended up here in front of you," she laughed apologetically. "I tried to look for the wheelie man on the pillars but couldn't find him."

"The what?" Louise asked like an automaton.

"The wheelie man. He's the running man on wheels next to the running man."

"The running man?" Louise faltered, not wanting to be here on this platform, wishing herself out of the memory of the last few days.

"On the exit sign. I'm newish to Toronto. I heard the TTC was a beacon of inclusivity and looked for the braille wheelie man. All I found were the inset tiles that ended abruptly. My new friends at the CNIB seem resigned to figuring out the way in the dark."

Louise's eyes sharpened into attention. Braille? Wheelie man? Running man? She felt like she'd entered the nether zone. She blurted: "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh. But I thought from your nametag that you work for the TTC?"

"I do," Louise replied, wondering how she could see her nametag but not the exit.

The woman stared at her for a moment, then gathering herself up as if having explained this for the umpteenth time, recited, "The wheelie man is the accessible running man exit sign. It's bright green to be visible in the dark and to people with low vision. It's to be placed all along the exit pathways at an accessible height so that people can see it even when the station is smoky or if they're in wheelchairs or scooters. The wheelie man has a forward-bending icon of a man wheeling to the exit beside the running man. The braille version is placed at an accessible height with braille underneath the wheelie and running man so people with vision impairment can read it with their fingers as they walk by." The woman stopped, sucking in air.

"Oh," said Louise, feeling exhausted.

"I couldn't find any here. I looked for the path for the visually impaired, but it ended at glass. Glass doesn't tell me which way to go."