They seek out ramps, they're sometimes daunted by stairs and cramped bathrooms, and even occasionally refused entry.
The local bar and nightclub experience can be a hassle for disabled patrons who just want to enjoy themselves. As the population of disabled and elderly LGBT residents grows, are local venues accommodating their changing clientele? In the first of a two-part feature, I talked with several people about their experiences in the local nightlife scene.
On Stage and Off
As a musician, Nomy Lamm has performed at several spaces around the Bay Area. She's part of the annual Sins Invalid performing showcase, and also writes and makes short films. Originally from Olympia, Washington, Lamm also lived in Chicago before moving to San Francisco seven years ago.
"For myself, there are a lot of factors of accessibility," said the 39-year-old artist, who uses a prosthetic leg. Before considering performing at a venue, Lamm cites a few concerns.
"I always think about whether a space is accessible. Ramps aren't necessary for me. But I made a choice a few years ago; I don't perform in spaces that aren't wheelchair accessible. If I know a certain person can't get in, it just doesn't feel good."
Even if a friend can get in the door, or the floor is level, they may face other barriers.
"Sometimes they can get in the door, but not in the bathroom. I've done different things to find a resolution, like communicating with other venues to see if there is a nearby space with accessible bathrooms."
Lamm recalled how a live-work performance space, Chicken John's on Ceasar Chavez, made a makeshift small ramp for their two-step door.
"It was a bit silly," she said, "that it couldn't be left on the street, since the ramp would block sidewalk traffic. So they brought it out when it was needed. It wasn't ideal, but it was a way that an entry can be made accessible."
When she performs, Lamm has often had to accommodate a variety of obstacles.
"I'm able to make do for some performances with Red Hot Burlesque at El Rio," she said, describing the Mission nightclub as "accessible-ish" with mostly flat areas and stairs on the patio and up to the stage.
"I'm a diva, so I get up there and have someone hold my hand," Nomm said. "But it wouldn't be accessible for chair users."
When Lamm ran the artists-in-residence program for the Sins Invalid performing series, finding a fully accessible venue was one of many duties.
"We were looking into La Pe�a Cultural Center [in Berkeley] as a venue, but there's no way a wheelchair user could get up onstage. We ended up doing it at Mission Cultural Center. The stage was accesible but the dressing room wasn't, so they had a ramp built."
Lamm recalled the former space for the Center for Sex and Culture, and its daunting stairs.
"They said, 'We have an elevator if you need it.' I had to carry my accordion around the entire building to the freight entrance, and go up in a cargo elevator with a step over the gate. I was like, 'No, you can't advertise this as accessible.'"
The new Center space, however, has a level entrance, is much more accessible, and even hosts LGBTQ disability events.
With some spaces, nothing can be changed, due to the architecture of a venue, and its limitations preceding the Americans with Disabilities Act.
"At the Elbo Room, I've performed or gone to shows there that are upstairs," she said. "I'll occasionally hike up all those stairs, but it's not accessible."
Lamm recalled a 1999 Sister Spit performance, where "a wheelchair user skidded up the stairs on her butt. Nobody should have to do that."
Nomy Lamm performing with her accordion.
Lamm has other concerns, too.
"In thinking about people I want to be there, I have friends with different sensibilities around chemicals," she said. "Are there scent-free seating areas? Does the soap in the bathroom use harsh chemicals? Some people have strong sensitivities."
Other concerns include flashing lights, which can effect those who have seizures or a form of epilepsy. "You need to know that ahead of time."
At events that are specific to disabled art, performers or themes, understandably, the venue should be accessible.
Lamm's next gig is a screening of her short erotic film at Un(diss)ing our Abilities, a night of "sexplicit" short films made by differently-abled people. Oakland's New Parkway Theatre hosts the event on October 16 at 9:30pm. That theatre is fully accessible, with wide hallways, ramps, and open space in the couch-filled seating area.
"The whole screening includes all different kinds of bodies and people expressing themselves in different ways," Lamm said.
As with previous screenings at ATA Gallery in the Mission (another accessible space), Lamm emphasized the empowering aspect of filmmakers, artists and their friends gathering for a sex-positive representation of people with various disabilities.
"It's really a community event," she said. "There wasn't any really voyeurism feeling. We were here together celebrating our sexuality."
Which leads to the question of those who aren't disabled approaching Lamm and other disabled LGBT people.
"I have had some experiences with devotees [people who fetishize disability] who are particular to women who are amputees," said Lamm. "It can be creepy, especially when they would call me, when people could look you up on a land line. I've had some mild stalking."
Lamm discussed how she has learned to parse the different between fans and stalkers.
"There are certain straight men who specifically act more creepy."
More often, her prosthetic leg is not as noticeable, except when she removes it.
"I take my leg off almost any time I sit down for any extended period, since it's not comfortable to sit in. If I'm at shows, I'll be in the audience, and I need a minute to get my leg on to get onstage. I don't take it off onstage unless there's a reason, like if I'm getting up to play my accordion."
Like others with different disabilities, Lamm has stories of 'ableist assumptions.' Well-intentioned people think they're helping disabled people, but they're actually being insensitive.
"I've had people grab at me, and think they were helping me," said Lamm. "Touching me without consent is not okay. People think they're being helpful by just jumping in, or taking my stuff to carry it without asking. These are nice people, and I feel sometimes feel like I'm being a jerk for being ornery, but you have to ask."
We discussed a few experiences others shared with me, about children's curiosity in public about wheelchairs, crutches or prosthetic limbs.
"Kids can be invasive when the parents are not communicating with them about boundaries," said Lamm. "But the whole shaming thing is not good either. My niece has made up songs about my legs."
Asked how much of her art specifically addresses her use of a prosthetic, Lamm cited one of her songs' lyrics, "There's one foot on the ground, but the other one is an imagination," she sang. "That lyric is talking about my experience in my own way. I feel like it's just so woven in."
Her song "Belly Up" includes references to Lamm becoming a mermaid, "about healing from trauma." Lamm's leg was amputated when she was three years old.
Her experience is also contextualized in an animated film she's developing, as well as a novel she recently completed. She also interviewed others who endured the pain of 'corrective surgeries.'
"After experiencing such hard things," said Lamm, "it's about allowing ourselves to engage with people in trusting ways."
Choosing the Right Place
Sam Wren is choosy about which bars he goes to, not just because of accessibility issues.
"Where I go varies, if I'm in the mood for going out," said Wren. "I don't go to some bars because of the people."
One of his preferred watering holes is The Mix, which he assessed as "somewhat accessible," despite the small patio with steps. "The Edge is okay, but the bathroom's not set up for a wheelchair user."
For a few nearby bars, Wren cited attitude as a problem, despite level entryways.
"At Badlands, they have a problem there," he said. "I don't go in there because of the staff. They hassle me for different things. Other people do a lot worse things, but they harassed me and give me a hard time."
Wren also critiqued Toad Hall, across 18th Street, and said some bartenders and staff were rude and dismissive, simply because he uses a wheelchair.
"There was broken glass on the floor a few times; another time, someone was smoking pot in the smoking area." Wren is allergic to marijuana smoke.
"They said 'We'll take care of it,' but they didn't. It was like, 'I'm not listening to you.' I'm not going to spend my money where I get that kind of treatment."
Wren said he appreciates Beaux for its spacious flat floors. "Yeah, I can wheel around there." The nightclub's elevator leads to the balcony, and Wren likes Beaux's two-for-one drink specials. Economics is also an issue, since he's on disability. So he looks for reasonably priced drinks and bars without a cover charge.
South of Market bars offer more wheelchair-accessible options for the 40-year-old Wren. Originally from Missouri, he's lived in San Francisco for ten years.
A few years ago, The Stud renovated its corner emergency exit as an accessible entryway. The Hole in the Wall is flat, with a private bathroom, and the Lone Star Saloon is flat with a ramp entry to its patio.
The Eagle's notable renovations in 2013 include a fully accessible bathroom, which Wren said he likes.
"I can wheel around, use the bathroom," he said. "I don't bother with the upper deck," he said, citing his smoke allergy.
Even the crowded Sunday beer busts don't daunt him.
"I don't worry about the crowds," he said. "I just do my own thing. Mostly I don't have any problems."
Asked is he's had to endure any naive or repeated curious questions, Wren said, "I'm always asked what put me in a wheelchair. I just tell them; I have a genetic medical condition, and leave it at that."
At his preferred bars, Wren said he's established a connection with some bartenders.
"I just get my service. I know where to go. It's just all about common sense."
With all the construction taking place throughout the city, does Wren find it easier to get around on the streets?
"Mostly, but they need to make more curb cuts on Van Ness Avenue, and a few side streets," said Wren. "I see a few problem spots, and I wheel all over the place. The city needs to make sure that it's accessible everywhere, not just in particular areas."
As for his navigating through crowded street fairs, like the recent Folsom Street Fair, Wren said he attends on occasion, "But I'm not paying eight dollars a beer. I'm not gonna pay fifteen dollars for a sandwich I can make in my apartment."
Manners Can be Fun
For author Belo Cipriani, good manners go a long way.
"A big problem for me has been finding service staff who know the etiquette of serving a blind person," he said.
"I've had bartenders who throw money at me, or don't tell me what they're doing. The staff doesn't know how to act with someone who has a disability, or anyone who has a mobility impairment. These people are not trained to handle any situation."
Along with a phone interview, Cipriani and I met at a restaurant in Rockridge, where the staff was not only friendly, but the waiter went out of his way to accommodate Cipriani's requests. Before having coffee at an outdoor table, we found a convenient table with a nearby recessed shelf that gave Oslo, his service dog, space to sit.
Cipriani, who was blinded by a violent assault in the Castro in April 2007, turned his experience into a bestselling memoir. He continues to write, and he works online with the help of text-to-audio devices, including on his cell phone.
Cipriani can make lighthearted jokes, such as when wait staff compliment his system of folding dollar bills into "origami."
"I ask bartenders and waiters to just tell me what they're giving me, and where it is."
Getting around with his dog, in shuttle vans, and on the arm of a friend, are his mainstays.
"The bathrooms are not so much an issue, but having the staff know how to help me is great," he said. "A big part has been asking staff to help me with cash or a credit card. Those are the two biggest issues."
Asked about loud music in bars impeding his ability to sense his surroundings, Cipriani joked that he did not, after losing his sight, "gain any superpowers."
But loud music is a problem, "which is why I tend to frequent quiet divey places and bars," he said. "Usually, I'm with a group of people, so it makes it easier to navigate, and I have my dog with me."
Recently, several disabled people in the U.S. with service dogs have been denied entry into many restuarants and stores, despite laws prohibiting such discrimination.
"They get attitude," said Cipriani. "I have to explain that I'm blind. In a nightclub, people who have been drinking don't get it, and try to pet the dog."
A service dog is basically at work, and petting them should not be done without permission from the owner.
"One place to get my needs met is The Cafe, which surprised me," said Cipriani. "They offered me the elevator, the staff helped me a lot. That's something I've not found in other bars." The Castro nightclub also has ramps to different levels of the club.
While Cipriani appreciates any effort, he knows from experience that there could be a lot more improvement.
"I think just the service industry in general needs to understand," he said. "I feel like I have to educate everybody, and it gets exhausting. I wonder if any of them are taught to deal with people in different cultural backgrounds, but not us. The service industry training deosn't seem to have disability etiquette, and it shows."
Cipriani recalled experiences of hostesses and waiters stopping he and Oslo (and his earlier service dog) before asking permission from their managers.
And although Cipriani spoke fluent Spanish on a few occasions when we dined with friends, he said that the most difficult restaurants to enter are ethnic businesses.
"They have biases toward animals," he surmised. "That's been an issue. There might be some ESL problems." Other problems have been staff or other patrons claiming dog allergies.
But such difficulties aren't limited to local businesses. Cipriani recalled a few unpleasant experiences in the allegedly sophisticated New York City, where a trendy restaurant's manager refused he and his service dog entry, saying, "Can you go have your rights somewhere else?"
Other issues are the rise of fake service dogs, owned by people with no disability, or a mere 'condition.'
"That's a very big problem," said Cipriani, who mentioned the ease with which anyone can purchase vests made for dogs from online stores.
But even with that problem, contesting illegal discrimination is too bothersome for him and many others.
"I think a big part of surviving a disability, no matter what it is, is that you have to plan ahead."
He spoke of his rehabilitation training. "They teach you how to predict and navigate different scenarios. I have to predict a curb, and when I go out. If it's a Friday, The Mix will be super busy. But if I get there earlier, get a nice spot, and introduce myself to the staff, it can be good."
Part 2 will follow next week.