Last Friday, I pulled into a handicap space at 10Box. It was the same space I'd had before, with a regular space to the left of it, where a close-parker had been over the line. Once again, I put T-Hoe's two right tires a bit into the wide, blue-striped walkway between handicap spaces, even though there was not a car in the offending space at the time.
When I came out, a black older-model Chevy Trailblazer was parked there. Tires on the line, but not too close to block T-Hoe's wide door from opening. I stowed my groceries in T-Hoe's rear, and pushed my cart up to the sidewalk, traveling between our two cars. When I got to the front, it was a bit of a squeeze to get my cart past the bumper of that Chevy and the yellow concrete tire-stopper. Of course I was extra-careful, because an old lady was sitting in that Chevy's passenger seat, with her window down.
I climbed into T-Hoe and started writing my total in my checkbook register. Old ways are still the best, by cracky! Through the windshield, I saw a bald old geezer driving a motorized cart. He stopped at T-Hoe's left front bumper, and tried to drive between our two cars. Nope! Not enough room. His Chevy's front fender, and that yellow concrete tire-bumper, were too close.
Old Geezer got a scowly frowny face. He didn't look directly at me. So I'm not taking the blame! After all, HE is the one who parked there after ME. He could clearly see T-Hoe's position when he parked his Chevy. Not my fault he couldn't drive his cart through there. He went around to the other side of his car, where thankfully there was an empty regular parking space.
As I backed out, Old Geezer was unloading his groceries, putting them into the back of his Chevy, on top of a folded-up handicap scooter. I didn't see his license plate, nor if he had a handicap placard. I'm sure he had one or the other. Just luck of the draw that all 6 of the handicap spaces were taken by other handicapped parkers when he got there.
Or was it...
I turned T-Hoe to drive the other way, across the front of the store. A big Ford F250 pickup truck was parked in the handicap space closest to the door. No handicap plates, no placard. As I went by, a mid-30s woman came out of the store. She jumped up onto that Ford F250 like a juvenile monkey climbing on a jungle gym!
I call shenanigans! Old Geezer should have motored over there on his cart, and opened up a can of whoop-rumpus on that gal!
When my father was dying of pancreatic cancer, he also had emphysema and looked like death warmed over. A guy was parking in the last of the handicap parking places. Daddy rolled down his window and yelled as best he could,"Buddy, you are taking my handicap parking place." The guy apologized and jumped back in his car to allow my father to park. Daddy said another man also turned around and came running to move his car. I thought that was nice they did so. Now, I wonder if they were afraid he would call the police on them.
ReplyDeletePractical Parsimony
No, I bet they actually felt contrite. Even in my pre-placard days, when I was hobbling just the same as I am now, I would not park in the handicap space at the Gas Station Chicken Store if I saw another car pull in at the same time, with handicap plates. Sometimes the joke was on me, when an able-bodied driver jumped out to run in, leaving a frail-looking person in the passenger seat.
DeleteI think the people who paint those parking spaces need to get out there with their tape measures and measure up the width of the bumpers on all kinds of trucks, then pick the widest measurement and repaint those spaces. It won't stop people parking wrongly, but at least half the time there might be enough space for carts and walkers to manouvre.
ReplyDeleteCars have gotten bigger, but parking spaces have stayed the same, I guess. Still, I don't feel like all spaces are the same dimensions.
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