She Hates Me

(Initially published January 2025.)

My building administrator hates me. I can see why. I say things like, "I need a reasonable accommodation for my disability so that I don't risk falling every time I pull open a door" or, "Several residents and I cannot buzz the door open for deliveries despite you giving us the code several times." The latest was me writing her, her boss, and the Condo Board saying, "Two hours is not adequate to inform residents that the WSSC is turning off the water."

Yes, I'm the "crazy" resident that administrators hate for telling the truth.

After a year and a half of sending her emails and calling her directly, I got tired. When she deleted posts for a resident WhatsApp group to communicate with each other directly, I knew she sees me as a nuisance. Terse email responses, awkward silences on the phone, and her literally hanging up on me mean I avoid interactions with her like the plague. I literally avoid going through the lobby to avoid her bad vibes.

But time had passed so I thought, "Perhaps she hates me a little less now." A few weeks ago, it was a rainy day and my shoes were damp as I entered the lobby. As I was cussing out my distant relative in my head (and outloud), I slipped and fell to the ground. As someone with a disability who uses a rollator walker to get around, when I fall, it can take a lot to get back up. I had seen her in her office as I turned right towards the elevator and slipped to the floor. As I was falling, I wondered if she hated me enough to ignore me lying on the floor. I'm glad that I was wrong.

She ran to the lobby, seeing me on the floor.

"Do you need help getting up?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I need to catch my breath first," I replied.

When I was ready to get up, she offered her arm but I shook my head again. I'm short, so people often assume I am a lot lighter than I am. She's a little shorter than me, so I did not want to risk both of us falling on the floor.

I pushed down the red brake levels on the walker. She held it in place so that it would be ready for me when I was on my feet. I slowly crawled to the chair against the wall. Lifting my right foot into to be ready to support my body, I pushed myself up off of the chair. My left foot finally found its way to plant itself on the floor next to my right.

"It's raining outside and my shoes are a little wet," I explained, placing both hands on the walker with certainty. Having a disability often makes me need to explain the circumstances surrounding my body failing me. Her eyes opened wide and she quickly had a look of panic on her face. Maybe it's because there were no yellow "Caution" signs on the floor. I didn't care--I had things to do. "Team work makes the dream work!" I laughed as I high-fived her. My eager palm met a tentative one.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm good," I uttered cheerily, "thanks so much for your help!" I walked to the elevator to embark on a fight for a Nigerian visa. I was embarassed but glad -- once again-- that she does not have to like you to treat you with kindness.