Contagious

June and the crush is on: finding an apartment is never not a huge hassle. Meaning, it's the sort of thing that, for me and my life, always makes you think you won't find one. Which makes you Matt Foley. Which, I admit, might be an interesting pedagogical approach. Heavy on that might.

The range in what various places define as accessible is always interesting. Most are generally up to the standards of the ADA, or, if not, willing to accommodate. That's great if you're these guys. But these guys I'm not. I need an electric door opener, for example, to even get inside an otherwise accessible apartment. And the right kind isn't cheap. They require installation, wiring, a strike plate that allows the door to be locked and able to be opened. And so forth. This isn't necessarily what you might call cheap.

And that's assuming I've found the apartment. Or the apartment complex. That's within walking distance of campus. Or, less conveniently, on a bus route.

Another assumption: that the school's disabled students haven't already swarmed locust-like over the limited number of accessible apartments available in a small town. Which in many cases they have.

So if you need me, I'm in a van. Down by the river.