I’d wanted to try them for awhile now, but they always seem so packed. Then a friend who moved to Seattle last year was in town for work and Westford was the halfway point, so I suggested British Beer Company.

By the time Jen got home and I was able to leave, the crowd had thinned so Caitlin didn’t have a wait for a booth in the bar area. She told me where it was and I found her…and the outrageously high booth height!

I assessed the situation and measured the booth to my stature: it came up to about my belly button. How the heck do they expect people WITHOUT a muscle disease to hop up, let alone me, with my CMT? Yes, there was a rail at the foot, but nothing to grasp in order to hoist me up!

I chuckled at the sight, probably to avoid the nerves I had. Usually Jen is with me to boost me when I need help, but no one was with me this night except tiny Caitlin and a bunch of jocks at surrounding tables. Nothing else to do but give it a whirl.

I heaved, I hoed, I hoisted—nothing. The only thing that moved was the unstable table and that did me no good. After a few tries, I did it.

Left leg was on the bar beneath the bench, and in a few pseudo jumps (think getting on a horse), I landed ever-so-gently (not) on the edge of the bench. To make matters worse, the cushion slanted down, so the entire dinner I say with clenched thighs, grabbing onto the bench constantly so as not to slide and have to re-hoist myself.

So while the food and service were both great, I will not be able to return to a place where my dignity comes into question just to settle in to dinner. I’ve been to other bars and never had an issue. Yes, bar tables are higher than typical ones, but these would be considered high for a giant! Handicapped fail!