When you live with a physical disability, going out to eat shouldn’t feel like competing on some restaurant version of American Ninja Warrior. But that’s exactly what it feels like sometimes. One step up with no ramp. A table jammed so tight against the wall, I need a GPS and a prayer to reach it. A bathroom so far back it may as well be on another planet. Trust me, I’ve been through it (and then some).
And let’s be clear. It’s not just inconvenient. It’s a not-so-silent way of saying, “You’re not welcome here.” And that message? I hear it loud and clear.
Accessibility is about respect. Period.
In a perfect world, we wouldn’t need laws to remind businesses to treat all people like people. But since we don’t live in that perfect world, we’ve got the ADA… the law that says accessibility isn’t optional. It’s required.
Now let’s throw some common sense into the mix, because apparently that still needs saying. The more accessible your restaurant is, the more people can show up and spend money. More diners means more tacos, more wine, more desserts flying out the kitchen. That’s more cha-ching in the register. Accessibility isn’t charity. It’s not a favor. It’s just smart business.
And if a place gets it right? Oh, I don’t just come back… I come back with a crew. My family, my friends, my followers. I post. I shout it out. I tag. That kind of loyalty? You can’t buy it. Accessibility brings in the community, and when we feel respected, we show up.
So let’s talk about what that actually looks like, section by section. Because one ramp and a smile doesn’t cut it.
Accessible Restaurant Seating
You’d think restaurants would’ve figured this out by now, but no. Some still act like having “one” accessible table is enough. Sorry, that’s not inclusion… that’s a participation trophy.
What happens if two of us roll in at the same time? Or someone with a walker and someone in a scooter both show up? That “one” table doesn’t stretch. Accessibility means options. Spread-out options. I want to enjoy the vibe, not be tucked away by the mop closet.
And while we’re at it, can we talk table design? I’ve had to eat with my plate on my lap because the table legs were doing the most, blocking my scooter. Tables need to work with different bodies, different devices, different needs. This isn’t a one-size-fits-all situation.
Bathrooms
If I can’t use your bathroom, your restaurant is not accessible. That’s it. Game over.
And I’m not talking about just having a stall with a little stick figure in a wheelchair on it. Can I even get to the bathroom? Is the door easy to open? Can I reach the sink without needing yoga skills and a stretch band? Is the stall clean — and I mean clean clean, not “someone tossed the mop bucket in there and called it a day” clean?
And please stop using the accessible stall as your backup storage unit. I don’t want to fight a broom or dodge a stack of chairs just to pee. Would you want to eat near a pile of clutter? No? Then don’t make me use the bathroom in one.
One more thing… fix the toilet when it’s broken. If the one stall I can use is out of order, that’s not an inconvenience. That’s a barrier. And I’m not about to hold it while you wait a week for a part to show up.
Menus and Service
Accessibility isn’t just about physical space. It shows up in how you’re treated from the second you sit down. Menus should be easy to read: large print, Braille, or a server who can read it out loud without turning it into bedtime story hour.
And servers, let me help you out: talk to me, not the person I’m with. I don’t need an interpreter unless I say I do. Ask me what I want. Ask me what I need. Don’t assume. And when the check comes? Slide it to the person who actually ordered and is paying. Spoiler alert: that’s me.
It might seem like a small thing, but trust… it makes a big difference.
Layout
Ramps at the entrance don’t mean much if the inside feels like an obstacle course. Aisles stuffed with chairs, highchairs, or random décor can make it impossible to move around. Accessibility means clear pathways and smart design, not clutter I have to dodge.
And the layout should make sense. You can have seating for everyone if you actually think it through. One time, I was seated at a cute but ridiculous high-top table, and I had to eat with my elbows because my scooter didn’t fit underneath. No high tables. They might look trendy, but they completely shut out wheelchair users. Floors shouldn’t be slick skating rinks either. People using crutches, canes, or walkers need safe, steady footing. Accessibility means everyone (wheelchairs, scooters, walkers, crutches) can move comfortably and safely.
Atmosphere
Unless you’re a nightclub or a sports bar, the music doesn’t need to blast so loudly that customers have to lean in two inches from each other just to talk. I’ve left restaurants because I couldn’t hear the person across from me. We are there for the food. Quality food and quality service will give you quality returning customers. Turn down the volume and let people enjoy both the meal and the conversation.
Staff Training
The real test of accessibility isn’t just the space, it’s the people. Staff need training. Don’t grab a wheelchair without asking. Don’t lean on it like it’s a piece of furniture. Don’t act like a customer with crutches or a walker is an inconvenience.
I’ve had staff step over my scooter to clean up a nearby table without even acknowledging me. Train your team to serve disabled diners with the same professionalism and warmth they give everyone else. Accessibility is about dignity, and when staff get it right, it changes the entire dining experience. That’s what turns accessibility from a checklist into a culture.
The Payoff
When restaurants get accessibility right, they don’t just get my business once. They get it again and again. And I don’t come alone. I bring my circle with me, and I share my experiences with my readers and my Instagram community at @LatinaDivaDines.
Here’s something else restaurant owners should know. Disabled customers are often your most loyal customers and your best marketers. Why? Because we don’t find enough accessible restaurants. When we do, we cling to them, we celebrate them, and we tell everyone we know. That kind of devotion isn’t earned through fancy décor or trendy cocktails. It’s earned through respect and accessibility.
Restaurants need to stop seeing accessibility as a box to check and start seeing it as an open door. It brings in disabled diners, their families, and their friends. It builds respect. It builds community. It builds repeat customers.
Accessibility isn’t a favor. It’s a standard. And if your restaurant doesn’t get that, trust me… your diners do.
💥 This article is part of my Just My Belly Button column. If you believe accessibility should never be optional, share this with your favorite restaurant owner.
👀 What About You?
Now it’s your turn—what irks you the most when it comes to dining out as a disabled person? Is it the maze of chairs, the icy stares, the impossible bathrooms, or all of the above? I want to hear it. Vent. Share. Let it out. Because if we don’t talk about it, nothing changes.
PS. The image is AI created on purpose. Email me if you know why I did it that way. nathasha@audacitymagazine.com
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