Risk VS Reward, I Suppose

Val is playing the same old broken record, turned up to maximum volume today. I cannot believe the number of people who park illegally in handicap spaces. I guess they figure there is little chance of getting a ticket and a fine. The police have more pressing matters. If they don't pursue the drive-off gas thieves, they're not going to worry about a ne'er-do-well parking in a handicap space without a placard or license plate entitling them to do so. It seems to have become the rule, rather than the exception. In just two days, four people prevented Val from parking in her rightful handicap space.

On Friday, the regular bad-doer in the white Ford F250 pickup truck was once again in the handicap space at the Gas Station Chicken Store. This happens 3-4 times a week, that I know of! I'm sure he's there every day, but I am lucky enough to arrive at a different time. This was during maximum windage. I pulled into the space behind, by the FREE AIR hose, and waited. That guy came out after five minutes, and actually moved his truck over by the moat. Then went back inside. In fact, he was swifter than I, and beat me to the register. He was buying draw tickets with specific numbers. I suppose he had been checking scratcher tickets, then went back for more on a later drawing.

Over at 10Box, three spaces in front of the store had been taken up with a display of spring planting items on wooden pallets. Also, the clouds were dark, and a few sprinkles were falling. Not sure which reason prompted a middle-aged woman to park in a handicap space. No placard, no plate, no visible sign of impairment. Just entitled, I suppose. She came out and was getting in her car as I gimped inside.

On Saturday, I pulled onto the Gas Station Chicken Store lot as the car in front of me parked at the side of the building, with the two left tires over the line of the lone handicap space. Not only was this idiot blocking the handicap space, but also the driving lane! She was in her 40s, a bit ample in the rumpus, but walking just fine, at a regular pace. She even looked at me, stopped behind her, holding my hands up like "WTF, lady?" No shame in that one. She continued toward the door, while I went around her on the other side of the diesel pumps.

I took the alley over the moat, to Casey's. Where I discovered a white sedan parked in the lone handicap space. No plate, no placard. An elderly woman was sitting in the passenger seat. No driver. I had to park to the right of it, by the dumpster. I didn't see anyone inside that might have belonged to that car. Only one person in line, who didn't get in that car. I came out and initialed my scratchers, and still only the elderly white-haired woman was in it. Maybe the driver was waiting for a pizza. Not really a reason to take up that handicap space on a bright sunny 65-degree afternoon.

Is it wrong that I feel like ramming those cars, and going all Kathy Bates on them, yelling "I'm older, and I have more insurance!"