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Dear Fancy-Schmancy Hotel in downtown Albuquerque,

I visited your facilities last week, when I received a “pass” from KUNM to attend the National Federation of Community Broadcasters’ Convention.

You obviously pay a great deal of attention to detail, to let your guests know what a fine business you’re running there. I saw fresh-cut flowers, sitting out in the lobbies. Beveled glass and mirrors twinkled, fingerprint-free, all over the building. The butter was molded to look like flowers. Dishes were bussed from our banquets before I had a chance to finish my last piece of pineapple; I’m surprised the fork wasn’t snatched right out of my mouth! The furnishings were plush and comfortable. The bell hop carts were brass plated.

I’m certain most affluent, able-bodied visitors were quite impressed.

But, for me, your hotel was quite a different experience.

You see, I’m disabled. Oh, I don’t sit in a wheelchair. I don’t have a guide dog. I don’t walk with a pronounced limp, ordinarily. I did walk with a cane, one day.

I saw a bathroom with a sign on the door, informing disabled guests (presumably those in wheelchairs) that they not only can’t use that particular facility, but must sprint all the way across the building to use one that you think is “disability accessible.” And, at that bathroom, I found the door so heavy, I could barely open it. I wondered what a more disabled person would have to do, just to relieve herself.

Most of your doors are too heavy. I saw able bodied people, struggling to enter the hotel through ten foot tall, solid glass and steel doors. None of the doors had a disabled button, to activate an opening mechanism. I struggled, for two days, just to enter and exit convention rooms and lobbies.

But the worst situation of all was the placement of several meeting rooms. Able bodied guests could access them by a staircase. No elevators accessed this area of the hotel. People who can’t negotiate stairs are forced to exit the hotel, go around the block, and enter from a side door. But that side door is kept locked, most of the time, to prevent street people from entering the facilities. Do I need to explain how frightening it might be to a disabled woman to have to negotiate: heavy doors, street people, weather, darkness and any manner of other obstacles, just to attend a meeting in one of these rooms?

Another option exists for entering this part of the hotel. My friend and I stumbled on it accidentally. There’s a hotel staff door, security code locked, which opens into long hallways of confusing underbelly. We dodged visitor luggage, garbage, food from the kitchen and laundry in these halls, in order to access the meeting rooms in question.

The second time I tried to use this passage, it was locked. So, I went to the hotel desk for assistance. The person who unlocked the passage door let me know in brusque comments and sighs that I was inconveniencing him. It was humiliating.

After my meeting, I tried to find my way back. A waiter flung open the access door and smacked me in the knuckles. They were bleeding. I got no apology. I got questioned as to why I thought I had any right to return the way I came.

I had a lovely time at the National Federation of Community Broadcasters’ Convention. I learned so much. I networked with people who can really help me as an independent producer, a researcher, a broadcaster. It was a valuable experience.

But every time I left a meeting, I was confronted by an indifferent and even hostile hotel facility. Your greeters even laughed at me and mocked me, when the PIN number for my ATM card stopped working and I couldn’t get bus fare home. I was tired, in pain and facing a several-mile walk home in the cold and dark. That’s not only not funny; it is a crisis for which I needed the hotel’s assistance. Yet, I had trouble even getting your staff to give me access to a hotel courtesy phone!

So, Fancy Schmancy Hotel, I must say I won’t be recommending your facilities to any of my friends.

And it might be wise, in the future, if you don’t alienate broadcasters.

Sincerely,

Rogi Riverstone