THE GREAT EDUCATION WE CALL LIFE ,
PART 2
The further adventures of one woman's leap into higher learning
by Zanie Ann Wilder, Staff Writer
Life experiences are often invaluable educational tools. These lessons are usually unexpected—and frequently undesired. The most humbling lessons often require us to expand our patience and/or sense of humor. If we pay attention to these opportunities, we will gain valuable insights. Or, at the very least, develop humorous stories with which to regale our progeny. The previous day, while returning to my college campus—my first since breaking my ankle was just such a misadventure. If you didn’t get the chance to read about it, please feel free to look at the June 2nd edition of this magazine.
The second attempt at returning for class started out much better. First, let me share that, where I live, mid-July is oppressively hot and sticky. This day was no exception. Despite steamy temperatures, however, as I drove into the busy parking lot, I was feeling pretty confident that today was going to be less of a circus act. The fact that I had driven the van all the way here without slinging gravel, or lurching all over the road, terrifying multiple teenage passengers, had to mean the worst was behind me. Yes, today was looking very promising. I foolishly found myself thinking that yesterday must simply have been an aberration. Sadly, time would soon dispel this notion.
I arrived several minutes early, in case unforeseen circumstances arose, I could still be punctual, thus avoiding drawing attention to myself and disrupting class. I scouted around for the parking spot that was in the closest proximity to the door. Around and around I went, now looking for just one open spot anywhere. I had to question why the powers that be always build huge campuses which they planned to fill to the maximum capacity of students, while simultaneously adding about half the needed parking slots. Did they have a hidden camera to watch all of us playing musical chairs in the parking lots? As I burned precious minutes searching, it was as if my black van was a buzzard circling the roost. As I came around for the fourth time, I noted a couple of cars leaving the lot. A-ha, at last! Speeding up for my next circle I spotted their now empty slots. YEAH! I had not one, but two choices at long last. After careful contemplation, I secured the space that appeared to be the closest available choice. Assessing the great distance from my van to the front door, my pride would, of necessity, die a painful death. Today, I absolutely would have to use this dreaded wheelchair first time in my life. This ancient, large-man-sized, blindingly bright neon blue seat, on freakishly large wheels, opened the way for quite an enlightening series of lessons. I previously had plenty of experience with scooters of all shapes, sizes, and types, having even pushed people through the hospital in manual chairs similar to this. However, I was soon to learn why hospitals leave those things assembled and sitting ready for use, as it requires hours to collapse or reassemble them every time.
The second attempt at returning for class started out much better. First, let me share that, where I live, mid-July is oppressively hot and sticky. This day was no exception. Despite steamy temperatures, however, as I drove into the busy parking lot, I was feeling pretty confident that today was going to be less of a circus act. The fact that I had driven the van all the way here without slinging gravel, or lurching all over the road, terrifying multiple teenage passengers, had to mean the worst was behind me. Yes, today was looking very promising. I foolishly found myself thinking that yesterday must simply have been an aberration. Sadly, time would soon dispel this notion.
I arrived several minutes early, in case unforeseen circumstances arose, I could still be punctual, thus avoiding drawing attention to myself and disrupting class. I scouted around for the parking spot that was in the closest proximity to the door. Around and around I went, now looking for just one open spot anywhere. I had to question why the powers that be always build huge campuses which they planned to fill to the maximum capacity of students, while simultaneously adding about half the needed parking slots. Did they have a hidden camera to watch all of us playing musical chairs in the parking lots? As I burned precious minutes searching, it was as if my black van was a buzzard circling the roost. As I came around for the fourth time, I noted a couple of cars leaving the lot. A-ha, at last! Speeding up for my next circle I spotted their now empty slots. YEAH! I had not one, but two choices at long last. After careful contemplation, I secured the space that appeared to be the closest available choice. Assessing the great distance from my van to the front door, my pride would, of necessity, die a painful death. Today, I absolutely would have to use this dreaded wheelchair first time in my life. This ancient, large-man-sized, blindingly bright neon blue seat, on freakishly large wheels, opened the way for quite an enlightening series of lessons. I previously had plenty of experience with scooters of all shapes, sizes, and types, having even pushed people through the hospital in manual chairs similar to this. However, I was soon to learn why hospitals leave those things assembled and sitting ready for use, as it requires hours to collapse or reassemble them every time.
Using my demonic metal crutches (again read last week’s article to find out why I call them this), I hobbled around to the rear of the van to officially unveil the gleaming silver and blue monstrosity as myriads of other cars circled like horses on a carousel. As I jerked on the hatch door, feeling, it stay stubbornly closed, I chastened myself for the umpteenth time for not having gotten that sticky door latch fixed long ago. Winning the subsequent tug of war, it took several attempts to heft that heavy old chair over the lip of the tailgate. It was as if it had been hanging onto the seatbelts for dear life, protesting that it was now called into active service. I hadn’t noticed how heavy it was, or perhaps how weak I was, until it slipped from my grasp slamming onto the pavement, bouncing several times on its rubber wheels. To use this contraption, I needed superhuman strength, as well as the intellect of Einstein to assemble it into something that even remotely resembled a hospital wheelchair, complete with foot rests. Why didn’t someone warn me that it is nearly impossible to set this thing up, let alone put one foot rest in the desired position while keeping the other one completely out of the way? I would have practice in the seclusion of my own home rather than such a public place with cars and people buzzing around me. Sadly, this conquest was not to occur until after cars and pedestrians alike had stopped to gape at the show. After much trial and error, and banging about, trying one lever/latch combination then another, I was now muttering under my breath as sweat started to drip into my cast.
Heaving a sigh of relief, at long last, the beast was saddled and ready to be ridden. Hastily attempting to vanish from center stage, I snatched up my cantankerous crutches, which had once again thrown themselves to the ground, and gleefully tossed them into the van. I was thinking to myself, “No more crazy adventures for me today.” Hanging on for dear life to the hatch door handle, I pulled it down with me, as I collapsed into the wheelchair. Luckily, I managed to do this part without knocking myself unconscious when the blamed thing hit my head as it came crashing down.
Nearly planting my fanny on the hot pavement reminded me of another great lesson. Did you know it is necessary to lock a wheeled apparatus before attempting to park your carcass, especially if you desire it to actually stay in one place during the entire operation?
Considering myself lucky to have avoided another broken bone in either my skull or my posterior side, I hoisted my purse, bulging backpack, and my 64-oz. mug onto my lap. I thought, “No puny little paper cups for me today.” Not all cups are created equal; further, if a person requires more than a swallow of water at a time, a gigantic personal mug is a must. Balancing the clunky cast on the now outstretched footrest, I went in search of a way to get onto the sidewalk without tipping over chair and all. I made the erroneous assumption that, once on the sidewalk, getting to class would certainly be easier and faster today. Indeed, other than nearly breaking my uninjured leg—which had the unfortunate tendency to get sucked under the front of the chair as it careened down the steep hill at a high rate of speed—getting to the door of the school did go swifter than I had anticipated.
Heaving a sigh of relief, at long last, the beast was saddled and ready to be ridden. Hastily attempting to vanish from center stage, I snatched up my cantankerous crutches, which had once again thrown themselves to the ground, and gleefully tossed them into the van. I was thinking to myself, “No more crazy adventures for me today.” Hanging on for dear life to the hatch door handle, I pulled it down with me, as I collapsed into the wheelchair. Luckily, I managed to do this part without knocking myself unconscious when the blamed thing hit my head as it came crashing down.
Nearly planting my fanny on the hot pavement reminded me of another great lesson. Did you know it is necessary to lock a wheeled apparatus before attempting to park your carcass, especially if you desire it to actually stay in one place during the entire operation?
Considering myself lucky to have avoided another broken bone in either my skull or my posterior side, I hoisted my purse, bulging backpack, and my 64-oz. mug onto my lap. I thought, “No puny little paper cups for me today.” Not all cups are created equal; further, if a person requires more than a swallow of water at a time, a gigantic personal mug is a must. Balancing the clunky cast on the now outstretched footrest, I went in search of a way to get onto the sidewalk without tipping over chair and all. I made the erroneous assumption that, once on the sidewalk, getting to class would certainly be easier and faster today. Indeed, other than nearly breaking my uninjured leg—which had the unfortunate tendency to get sucked under the front of the chair as it careened down the steep hill at a high rate of speed—getting to the door of the school did go swifter than I had anticipated.
However, getting through the doors was another matter altogether. It seems some institutions assume that installing an electronic switch outside of the entrance of two sets of double glass doors, qualifies said entrance to be called “handicap accessible.” I was soon to learn that not all entrances that sport the blue insignia behave the same. While these particular doors did have the desirable quality of not being immediately preceded by monstrous steps, they did have a vertical metal beam between each side-by-side door narrowing the hole thru which I had to squeeze my overheated self and oversized wheelchair. Adding to the challenge was their uncanny ability to open verrrry slowly leaving me to swelter in the extreme heat, only to stay that way for a couple of brief seconds before rapidly slamming shut. Since I did not have assistance, clearing the several-inch high ledge at the first doorway was nearly an insurmountable task, quite delaying my progress. Realizing I could not simply roll over the ledge in the sitting position, I solved the problem by half-standing on my good leg, leaving my casted leg outstretched in the leg-rest, hopping forward slightly while reaching and jerking the wheelchair along behind me. I nearly made it all the way into the foyer just as the doors slammed shut as if to laughingly announce, “Your time is up. Too bad for you!” It seems it was my lucky day. After being shoved rudely from behind by the door banging wildly in its attempt to close against the back of the chair, I found myself trapped in the tiny space between both sets of doors. This configuration caused a flow of superheated air to rush in like a blast furnace. I pushed back with my head to relieve the pressure against the chair handle, now trapped between the metal beam and the door. Once fully inside the little stuffy vestibule, I found it necessary to stop for a second and catch my breath.
Life had once more afforded me food for thought. Never before had I pondered why the switch is usually located outside of a double set of doors, and why there was not a switch or emergency call box between them. Do building designers really believe all wheelchairs are power assisted? I could now testify that one good whack on the little silver switch outside does not last nearly long enough to clear two sets of doors. This begs the question—what if a body gets trapped in between? Had anyone ever contemplated that possibility?
As I sat there for a moment and considered how to get through the last door, I could see people walking to and fro, on either side of the entry area, but they seemed to be unaware of my dilemma. There was even one guy who rapidly brushed past me letting the inside door close solidly behind him as he hurried on his way. Did it even occur to him that I did not desire to be a permanent fixture sitting there blocking one of the main entry doors? Drawing on my survival instinct, I climbed out of the wheelchair, balanced on my good leg, held the door open while jerking everything through the second set of doors. Miraculously, all this was accomplished without losing my pack, dumping the water, or falling on the floor. At long last, I escaped my glass prison.
As I navigated the series of long hallways to my final destination, my mind ran amuck. I considered my lucky escape. Until today, I had believed people who slept in doorways were homeless and seeking shelter. The next time I see someone sleeping in an entry-way, especially if it is between double-doors like those, I will not delude myself into assuming they are homeless. Perhaps they are just some poor slob who fell asleep from sheer exhaustion while struggling through first set of doors! Maybe, they simply lacked the fortitude, jackrabbit speed, ballerina-like coordination, or brute-strength needed to open the heavy second set of doors. Further, if I spy a bottle in their pocket wrapped in a plain brown paper, I will suspect that it is for purely medicinal purposes—perhaps to help deal with the embarrassment while trapped there for the whole world to gawk at like a monkey in a cage. No more would I assume they need money or even food, maybe they just need someone to hold the second door for them!
Glancing at my watch, I calculated 25 minutes had passed since arriving. For a second day in a row, I was late. My progress was slow; as I continued to overwork my good leg to propel the chair. I couldn’t use my hands for maneuvering the chair, as they were busy hanging on to my pack, purse and cup like lifelines. To further complicate matters, since I was using only one leg, controlling the direction of the chair was a bit of a challenge as well. It had a tendency to travel in a slight zigzag pattern. I became aware that conversations abruptly ceased and all eyes turned my direction as I negotiated the long corridors. Then it occurred to me, perhaps they had seen me fly down the outside walkway and just wanted to be sure they were not in imminent danger of getting run over. Either way, I was late and didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever their reasoning, there definitely was a path cleared as if to protect their feet.
Upon entering class, and noting the raised eyebrow from my teacher, I felt obliged to give him an appropriate explanation for my altered appearance. I really would have preferred to just slither into the nearest corner and hide. However, the only desk available was, as usual, on the far side of the classroom.
The instructor offered to have someone get me an extra chair for my foot. However, another of life’s great lessons had taught me that not all chairs were acceptable for propping ones leg on. Rather than risk a repeat of that lesson, I opted to simply put my foot on my desk. This was no small feat, as my leg just didn’t seem to want to stay put atop that tiny desk. I used my extra books to brace it there.
When class was finally over, I slinked out of the classroom, once again I was the last to leave, as I had been unable to enter the flowing stream of tightly packed humanity—it seemed they had figured it was safer for them to be well ahead of those huge wheels. My gigantic mug of water that I had been swilling down the entire class period caused me to urgently need to make a pit stop before departing for home. This is where I and a couple of innocent tailgaters gained another great lesson.
As I quickly rolled through the opening to the restroom, designed with a sharp “L-shaped” turn immediately inside, I bounced my extended foot off the opposite wall causing a sharp pain to shoot up my leg. After letting an exclamation of exasperation fly from my lips, I tried to reach the little silver latch located somewhere beyond my pack and under my leg. I realized I needed to put the footrest down before I could navigate the sharp right turn. But as luck would have it, I could not even reach that far with my arms so full of books, pack and mug. My next thought was to dump everything to the floor, and double over in an attempt to release the latch—not my bladder. The space was so tight that there was no floor left. Maybe it was the earlier trauma, pain or the fact that I urgently needed to make it in this little room and couldn’t in my present configuration, but somehow my brain short-circuited at that moment. I began to hyperventilate at the thought of getting wedged in this doorway. My next thought was I have to back out of here—right now! The chair had no back-up lights and I was oblivious to everything else. Let me just say there are a couple young ladies who will never enter a restroom immediately on the heels of a crazy woman in a neon blue wheelchair again. Bumping into an obstacle on my first attempt in ‘reverse’ only served to increase my panic, and I redoubled the force on my second attempt. Since the obstacle was no longer in the way, for some unfathomable reason, the extra force caused me to shoot backwards bouncing against the opposite wall. Calm reason began to return and I felt burning humiliation as I finally noted I had tried to literally roll over people. Upon later analysis, I realized I had hit their sandaled toes on my first attempt to escape. It must have been quite a shock to them to have me suddenly change direction with no warning, because when I was free of the door and obstacles impeding my motion, I noted 2 little girls plastered against either wall standing on their tippy toes squeaking for dear life with eyes big as saucers.
Mortified, I chose to use the restroom that was nearer the exit to avoid “running”—figuratively or literally— into those girls again.
At long last, exiting the building I breathed a sigh of relief when I cleared the vestibule. That little ledge was infinitely easier to scale going out than it had been coming in. Of course, it helped that I had learned to hit both doors going much faster. Another insight added to my list.
I began thinking to myself, “I didn’t do too badly. Well, except for the entry doors and the restroom part. My day is all down-hill from here”
It is ironic that I was thinking about up and downhill just then. Life, it seems, was prepared to remind me that if a sidewalk goes downhill going into the school. Conversely, the same walkway must go uphill on the way out. After a few feet my good leg that was pulling chair, pack, and me uphill, reminded me how weak it had become from all the unaccustomed labor of the past few days. After stopping to rest, I found myself suddenly rolling backwards losing the ground I had just painstakingly gained. I hurriedly set the brake, catching my breath before starting a second time up that long expanse of sidewalk. Stopping a third time, mere feet from where I had moments ago. This was absolutely not working. I was sweating bullets from the exertion and frustration. I had no options, after winging a prayer heavenward to protect any unwary pedestrians; I ended up turning my bright blue chair around and pushing myself up the sidewalks backwards. As if this wasn’t embarrassing enough, where in forward motion the chair and I only slightly zig-zagged, I could not make the chair go in any semblance of a straight line in reverse. “Great!” I thought, “As if going uphill on a sidewalk backwards, sitting in a flashy wheelchair weren’t humbling enough, I had to add the attraction of weaving from side to side, in my attempt to actually stay on the sidewalk. Unable to see behind me, I could only gage where I was going by watching the grass on either side of the walkway. I was weaving like a drunk all the way to the top. I wouldn’t have such fond memories of the experience, except this was all taking place in front of the school and having glanced up, I now knew for a fact that two entire classes had come to a screeching halt. All the students, and probably the teachers as well, with noses pressed against the window were laughing at me, trying to be a one man circus act.
Upon reaching the top, I decided that if everyone was watching me act like a trained monkey in a slapstick comedy, they might as well have the full show. I figured it was just a matter of time before I received a letter cordially inviting me to withdraw from their school. So I struggled to my feet—after locking my brakes. See I can be taught. Then, standing at attention as best I could, with one leg propped up in the air, I faced the people staring at me and saluted. I figured, if I had to have one of my most embarrassing moments in front of so many witnesses, I should have a great ending as well. Several people actually clapped as I did that.
I am sure there are those, who, upon reading this account, may think the above a stretching the truth just a bit. On my honor as a bonafide nut case and a mom, this day actually happened. Truth is often stranger—sometimes even funnier—than fiction.
Through my trials and tribulations, I have been schooled. If I can just remember to watch for these little lessons given to me amidst my adversities, I will gain a world class education.
As I navigated the series of long hallways to my final destination, my mind ran amuck. I considered my lucky escape. Until today, I had believed people who slept in doorways were homeless and seeking shelter. The next time I see someone sleeping in an entry-way, especially if it is between double-doors like those, I will not delude myself into assuming they are homeless. Perhaps they are just some poor slob who fell asleep from sheer exhaustion while struggling through first set of doors! Maybe, they simply lacked the fortitude, jackrabbit speed, ballerina-like coordination, or brute-strength needed to open the heavy second set of doors. Further, if I spy a bottle in their pocket wrapped in a plain brown paper, I will suspect that it is for purely medicinal purposes—perhaps to help deal with the embarrassment while trapped there for the whole world to gawk at like a monkey in a cage. No more would I assume they need money or even food, maybe they just need someone to hold the second door for them!
Glancing at my watch, I calculated 25 minutes had passed since arriving. For a second day in a row, I was late. My progress was slow; as I continued to overwork my good leg to propel the chair. I couldn’t use my hands for maneuvering the chair, as they were busy hanging on to my pack, purse and cup like lifelines. To further complicate matters, since I was using only one leg, controlling the direction of the chair was a bit of a challenge as well. It had a tendency to travel in a slight zigzag pattern. I became aware that conversations abruptly ceased and all eyes turned my direction as I negotiated the long corridors. Then it occurred to me, perhaps they had seen me fly down the outside walkway and just wanted to be sure they were not in imminent danger of getting run over. Either way, I was late and didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever their reasoning, there definitely was a path cleared as if to protect their feet.
Upon entering class, and noting the raised eyebrow from my teacher, I felt obliged to give him an appropriate explanation for my altered appearance. I really would have preferred to just slither into the nearest corner and hide. However, the only desk available was, as usual, on the far side of the classroom.
The instructor offered to have someone get me an extra chair for my foot. However, another of life’s great lessons had taught me that not all chairs were acceptable for propping ones leg on. Rather than risk a repeat of that lesson, I opted to simply put my foot on my desk. This was no small feat, as my leg just didn’t seem to want to stay put atop that tiny desk. I used my extra books to brace it there.
When class was finally over, I slinked out of the classroom, once again I was the last to leave, as I had been unable to enter the flowing stream of tightly packed humanity—it seemed they had figured it was safer for them to be well ahead of those huge wheels. My gigantic mug of water that I had been swilling down the entire class period caused me to urgently need to make a pit stop before departing for home. This is where I and a couple of innocent tailgaters gained another great lesson.
As I quickly rolled through the opening to the restroom, designed with a sharp “L-shaped” turn immediately inside, I bounced my extended foot off the opposite wall causing a sharp pain to shoot up my leg. After letting an exclamation of exasperation fly from my lips, I tried to reach the little silver latch located somewhere beyond my pack and under my leg. I realized I needed to put the footrest down before I could navigate the sharp right turn. But as luck would have it, I could not even reach that far with my arms so full of books, pack and mug. My next thought was to dump everything to the floor, and double over in an attempt to release the latch—not my bladder. The space was so tight that there was no floor left. Maybe it was the earlier trauma, pain or the fact that I urgently needed to make it in this little room and couldn’t in my present configuration, but somehow my brain short-circuited at that moment. I began to hyperventilate at the thought of getting wedged in this doorway. My next thought was I have to back out of here—right now! The chair had no back-up lights and I was oblivious to everything else. Let me just say there are a couple young ladies who will never enter a restroom immediately on the heels of a crazy woman in a neon blue wheelchair again. Bumping into an obstacle on my first attempt in ‘reverse’ only served to increase my panic, and I redoubled the force on my second attempt. Since the obstacle was no longer in the way, for some unfathomable reason, the extra force caused me to shoot backwards bouncing against the opposite wall. Calm reason began to return and I felt burning humiliation as I finally noted I had tried to literally roll over people. Upon later analysis, I realized I had hit their sandaled toes on my first attempt to escape. It must have been quite a shock to them to have me suddenly change direction with no warning, because when I was free of the door and obstacles impeding my motion, I noted 2 little girls plastered against either wall standing on their tippy toes squeaking for dear life with eyes big as saucers.
Mortified, I chose to use the restroom that was nearer the exit to avoid “running”—figuratively or literally— into those girls again.
At long last, exiting the building I breathed a sigh of relief when I cleared the vestibule. That little ledge was infinitely easier to scale going out than it had been coming in. Of course, it helped that I had learned to hit both doors going much faster. Another insight added to my list.
I began thinking to myself, “I didn’t do too badly. Well, except for the entry doors and the restroom part. My day is all down-hill from here”
It is ironic that I was thinking about up and downhill just then. Life, it seems, was prepared to remind me that if a sidewalk goes downhill going into the school. Conversely, the same walkway must go uphill on the way out. After a few feet my good leg that was pulling chair, pack, and me uphill, reminded me how weak it had become from all the unaccustomed labor of the past few days. After stopping to rest, I found myself suddenly rolling backwards losing the ground I had just painstakingly gained. I hurriedly set the brake, catching my breath before starting a second time up that long expanse of sidewalk. Stopping a third time, mere feet from where I had moments ago. This was absolutely not working. I was sweating bullets from the exertion and frustration. I had no options, after winging a prayer heavenward to protect any unwary pedestrians; I ended up turning my bright blue chair around and pushing myself up the sidewalks backwards. As if this wasn’t embarrassing enough, where in forward motion the chair and I only slightly zig-zagged, I could not make the chair go in any semblance of a straight line in reverse. “Great!” I thought, “As if going uphill on a sidewalk backwards, sitting in a flashy wheelchair weren’t humbling enough, I had to add the attraction of weaving from side to side, in my attempt to actually stay on the sidewalk. Unable to see behind me, I could only gage where I was going by watching the grass on either side of the walkway. I was weaving like a drunk all the way to the top. I wouldn’t have such fond memories of the experience, except this was all taking place in front of the school and having glanced up, I now knew for a fact that two entire classes had come to a screeching halt. All the students, and probably the teachers as well, with noses pressed against the window were laughing at me, trying to be a one man circus act.
Upon reaching the top, I decided that if everyone was watching me act like a trained monkey in a slapstick comedy, they might as well have the full show. I figured it was just a matter of time before I received a letter cordially inviting me to withdraw from their school. So I struggled to my feet—after locking my brakes. See I can be taught. Then, standing at attention as best I could, with one leg propped up in the air, I faced the people staring at me and saluted. I figured, if I had to have one of my most embarrassing moments in front of so many witnesses, I should have a great ending as well. Several people actually clapped as I did that.
I am sure there are those, who, upon reading this account, may think the above a stretching the truth just a bit. On my honor as a bonafide nut case and a mom, this day actually happened. Truth is often stranger—sometimes even funnier—than fiction.
Through my trials and tribulations, I have been schooled. If I can just remember to watch for these little lessons given to me amidst my adversities, I will gain a world class education.
Copyright © 2014 by Rent's Due Publications
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, click a button on any page to send email with details of the request.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, click a button on any page to send email with details of the request.