DART Dumps Disabled

by Dare Cloud

When I decided last week that I would finally use my journalistic powers for the purposes of good, I never thought I would stumble upon a story so quickly. As luck would have it, my typical morning commute turned into a tale of power trips and racially motivated discrimination. As I always say, “Stay classy, Dallas.”

I should learn to expect nothing less.

Many moons ago, the United States Army decided that me living out the rest of my life pain-free was a pipe dream. One of my knees is off track, while the other exhibits a fracture. These are not my untrained words, but the words of my doctor at Ft. Huachuca, AZ circa 1999. The VA in Dallas didn’t seem to question that logic when they awarded me my tiny monthly check and disability status. Why would non-medical personnel debate such well established facts? Why, indeed?

I hopped the Dallas Street Car at Bishop Arts station, the same as I do several times a week. I transfer to either the DART electric rail or TRE train at Union Station, depending on if I’m covering a story in Ft. Worth or going to my office on St. Paul. Not a single official has ever questioned my disability status on the train because I normally have a walking stick. It’s both for walking and fighting off the idiots who run rabid through the Dallas public transit system. Broken or not, I’m pretty hip on defending myself in precarious situations. Today, I felt exceptionally good for a fifty year old disabled veteran and decided to leave my stick at home. Apparently, DART fare enforcement is really appreciative of physical, context clues.

I could tell the officer was curious about my get-up (old white dude, obviously cared for beard, professional grade camera hanging around my neck, and an “I triple-dog dare you” stance). She walked by several sleeping homeless people and people of color before approaching what society deems as the “harmless old white man.” I showed her my ticket before she could even vocally request it. This was a mistake from the beginning.

For the sake of her daily quota or the fact she was being watched like a hawk by a fellow officer, she studied my train ticket as though it was her job. Actually, it is indeed her job to check my ticket, but it was also her job to roust the sleeping burnouts she walked past to confront the “safer” option.

The fare enforcement officer asked to see my Medicare card. My what? I’m only fifty years old and don’t have a Medicare card. All my healthcare and disability are handled through the Veteran’s Administration, so I confidently showed my VA healthcare status card clearly stating I’m a disabled veteran with a service connected injury. She went on to state that my identification wasn’t good enough.

I went on to explain that several of my identifying documents were in the mail, and my official letter of disability was filed for safety at home. Also, my disability cause and status is protected by the ADA, and a simple fair enforcement officer didn’t qualify to view such documentation. Apparently, when you don’t bow down to their imagined authority, they call their friends over to gang up on you.

It was about that time when I was instructed by both of them that I needed to exit the train and not claim disablity fares until I handled my business officially through DART. It took me a moment to process what just happened as the train carried on toward my office without me. For the record, all the homeless people without tickets (who you can’t tell if they’re talking to the demons in their heads or their demonic counterpart on the other end of their blutooth connection) were allowed to carry on toward their destinations without so much as a tap on the shoulder. I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the officer and the fareless riders hail from the same ethnicity. Yep, I’m totally sure. Although they did begin to back paddle a bit when I casually whipped out my press pass before detraining. The damage was done, and I was in full Karen mode on my way to the DART corporate offices.

I pleaded my case to a couple of very pleasant ladies behind the bulletproof glass, and they issued me my DART disability ID without showing any of the proof that the fare enforcement officers illegally requested. To be fair, I didn’t have the required yet illusive ID required to get a $3 discount on my ticket, but fairness in the modern world is only a fond memory. My father always told me that life wasn’t fair, and I believed him, but the fact I feel pain with every step I’ve taken from 1999 until now in 2024 should give me a bit of a veterans head start. I kept this in mind as I continued to walk the additional blocks to my office.

It is NOT a disabled person’s legal obligation to “prove” their disability to a REAL cop, so a public transit fare enforcement officer should be officially out of the loop. Then again, I was white with a big camera in downtown Dallas and was obviously up to no good. Perhaps I should just sit down, shut my eyes, and go to sleep like all the other good boys and girls of the DART Daycare System.

Play fair, Dallas. I’m watching you.