Written by Kristy Durso, for a Facebook post, December 26, 2024
Recently, my family and I were discriminated against at another hotel, and as a result, we were compensated with a large number of points by Marriott International. I shared about this earlier this month, but for those unfamiliar with the incident, we were kicked out of a hotel at 12:30 a.m. after the staff failed to provide us with the accessible room we had been promised. The person on duty even threatened to call the police when we tried to resolve the issue peacefully.
As a travel professional specializing in accessibility and a trainer and speaker on booking accessible travel, I had done my due diligence. Despite this, we were left stranded with nowhere to go. As an apology, the manager offered what he referred to as an “extravagant” amount of loyalty points.
We decided to use half of those points for a stay at the JW Marriott San Antonio Hill Country Resort & Spa, so we could take our family to the ICE! experience. I was thrilled about the trip, especially the ice slides. It felt like an opportunity to turn a previous negative experience into a positive family memory.
The Magic of ICE!
The ICE! exhibits were breathtaking. The entire story of How the Grinch Stole Christmas was brought to life in stunning, larger-than-life, colorful sculptures. My service dog, Gulliver, seemed to love the cold as much as I did, trotting happily beside us.
Then we reached the slides.
We had a plan in place. I would back myself up the stairs, and if there were areas I couldn’t manage on my own, I would either crawl or our 200-pound, 6’1” Army son would carry me. We were confident and prepared.
I transferred to the ice and made my way to the first level. It wasn’t easy—my fingers throbbed from the cold—but I was exhilarated and ready for the fun ahead. My youngest child, who is intellectually disabled and has the excitement of a 5-year-old at 13, was especially thrilled. His joy alone made the effort worth it.
Denied Access
Then it happened.
The slide attendant, who hadn’t interacted with me at all during my climb, suddenly informed me that they’d just spoken to their manager and I wouldn’t be allowed to go down the slide.
Confused, I asked, “Why not?”
Their responses were a series of excuses, each more frustrating than the last:
1. “You have to be able to get up the stairs on your own.”
“I just did,” I replied.
2. Shift the goalpost: “You have to be able to WALK up the stairs.”
“I’ve seen three children carried up by their parents. What’s the difference?” I asked.
3. Shift the goalpost again: “We can’t take the risk of you hurting yourself.”
“I just demonstrated I have the core strength to lift myself and sit up unassisted,” I countered.
4. Final excuse: “We can’t take the liability.”
“I am willing to sign the same waiver as anyone else. I am capable of assessing my own risk, and I know I can safely go down this slide.”
They kept refusing.
Frustrated, I called out the discrimination: “You’re denying me access because I have a visible disability.”
The attendant’s response? “You’ve never been discriminated against. That’s for other people.”
By this point, I was furious. I demanded to speak to the manager.
Confrontation With the Manager
When the manager arrived, they reiterated that I couldn’t go down the slide. Their reasoning? “Unless you can stand up, I can’t allow it.”
I looked them in the eye and said, “I WILL go down that slide.”
To make my point, I pulled myself up using the handrails, fully supporting my weight. I turned back to the manager, locked eyes, and repeated, “I will go down that slide.”
Silently, the staff stepped aside.
Was It Worth It?
For the slide itself? No. The experience was underwhelming—a short ride akin to a playground slide for children.
But for the principle? Absolutely. It was priceless to prove that no one has the right to impose their assumptions about someone else’s capabilities based solely on appearance.
Later, the manager found me, and told me that I had changed his perspective, and helped him see that there should be allowances for those with disabilities to choose their participation level. That was worth everything.
We should all have the opportunity to define our own limits—not have them dictated to us.
[Photo description: Kristy is wearing a blue parka, sliding down one of 5 slides, set to appear as part of Mount Crumpet from How the Grinch Stole Christmas. There is a blue tunnel over some of the slides, and Max, the Grinch’s dog, is sculpted on top, wearing his antler.]
