Julie and were about to board the train for Lausanne - the first time on a train in my new electric wheelchair. Julie motioned to the woman next to us, asking for a path through for the wheelchair.

The woman ignored her and pushed in front of us. As soon as she entered the train, instead of stepping aside to let me pass, where there was room for ten people, a few large dogs, and a keg (for example), she stood to block the doorway.

Not expecting this, I was in the middle of negotiating the ramp before I saw how close she was. I had to brake hard before I hit her. She avoided eye contact, and I was left with steaming frustration until she deigned to move.

It seems strange, based on what the world knows about the Swiss, how rude they can be when it comes to the disabled. Let me take that back a bit. I have many good and generous Swiss friends, but a continuous daily experience with nameless people on public transportation makes me distrust the larger culture.

I’ve been pushed. People won’t leave the handicapped area. People will slide into the bathroom door while I’m on crutches, in the doorway, halfway in (that one didn’t work out for her, but she was furious at me for blocking her). Most people who help are French or tourists.

Now, I’m generally a nice person. But I still have a sarcastic streak that’s been toughened by all my time in South Philly. My immediate response would usually be a finger or two and a colorful comment on their recent ancestors.

But I’m trying to be nice. This is Switzerland, not Passyunk Ave. So I asked Julie: How do you say “Move it, *ssh*le!” in French?

She said “Maybe: bouchez plus vite, Madame!”

But she was being rude to me! I need a “mec” or a “ma grosse” or a “tête du con” in there!

“No,” she replied. “She would just say: why do you insult me when I didn’t insult you?”

But she kind of did insult me.

“Yeah, but still it will sting more if you use madame. You need to use their level.”

I mulled that over. I could tell she felt the same and was trying to help me figure out a good response.

“Ok,” she said. “Say: j’ai la priorité, madame!”

I can’t say just be like “c’est QUOI ça?”

“No, that’s too aggressive. This is better. J’ai le priorité.”

OK. I can say that quickly… I’ll try next time.

Now I kept saying it under my breath. J’ai la priorité. I still wanted to add something sarcastic, but I suppose, in this culture, being politely reprimanded in public for bad behavior has a bigger impact.

Here’s the thing. When I arrived in Lausanne, a very kind man with a heavy Vaudois accent generously held the elevator door for me and an old couple, politely wishing us a good day as he walked away. It was touching after being cold shouldered by so many. We could tell he had some disabilities, and we talked about how the kindest people are often ones who have had to deal with those problems in their life.

When I see people walking around oblivious to those disabled around them, I can’t help but remember a quote I heard somewhere: there are no “normal people”, just people who are temporarily non-disabled.

So I went home, already thinking of my next plan: printing fake parking tickets for cars who use the handicap space or block the ramps.