Val wishes she had a jousting stick strapped to the side of her high horse, so she could draw it at will and POKE POKE POKE those inconsiderate rumpusholes who selfishly park in her rightful handicap space. Val has an official PLACARD, you know! Designating her as special and deserving of a parking space close to the door, painted with a blue wheelchair stencil, lined in blue or yellow, marked by a blue-and-white sign on the wall or a metal post.
Indeed, Val's nostrils flare, sucking in her rarefied air atop her high horse. If she had even the slightest hint of dragon DNA, flames would shoot out upon exhale. How DARE the able-bodied peasants take up such a rectangle of blacktopped real estate that is not meant for their common squatting.
Tuesday, I was coasting T-Hoe through the parking lot of Hick's pharmacy, crossing the moat, intending to pull into my rightful handicap parking space at the Gas Station Chicken Store. But no! A silver newer-model Chevy pickup truck rolled in there just ahead of me. As I was turning in from the alley, I saw a 20-something man and a sixish-year-old boy get out and go into the store.
Well! Ain't that a rotten kettle of fish! I parked in the space by the FREE AIR hose. Putting T-Hoe nose-to-nose with that silver pickup truck. My blue-and-white handicap placard swinging from T-Hoe's mirror. In the past, I have gotten out and peg-legged it around such parking offenders, walking extra distance to get my scratchers. Not this time. I waited.
Here came the 20-something man back out, his boy close behind him. The man had a bottle of Gatorade. Nothing for the boy. Let the record show that they were both as spry as spring chickens. No handicap plate, no placard. There is no one quite so NOT disabled as a 20-something man. And a sixish-year-old boy. I can't blame the boy. He wasn't driving.
I sat in T-Hoe, my eyeballs boring into that 20-something man. I'm surprised that he did not burst into flames from my still-potent, currently underused stinkeye. I had made sure that he would have to back up to move his truck around me to leave.
Oh, how I wished for a jousting stick to poke a couple of dents in his pickup truck as he drove past T-Hoe.
I always assume that people like that are brain-damaged.
ReplyDeleteThat would certainly explain their actions!
DeleteI agree with you Val. I wish they had undercover agents to check out those who park in the handicapped parking spots. I never check out those who park in the handicapped parking spots but, because you park in those parking spots, you are more aware of people who may be using those parking spots without rights to do so.
ReplyDeleteI do not begrudge a person parking there who might have a temporary problem, like a sprained ankle, recent surgery, a very pregnant woman, or maybe a person with two or more young children to control. These people would visibly exhibit their need, even without a placard. I, myself, have parked in the Gas Station Chicken Store handicap space before my placard, because it's close, on level ground. But my limp would surely demonstrate a need.
DeleteIt's the young people who seem able-bodied that light my fuse.
The one good thing is that he was quick with his purchases so you didn't have to wait too long. If he'd glanced your way would you have tapped the placard to make him notice it? That way he'd get at least a little guilt. Maybe.
ReplyDeleteI WAS surprised at his quickness, since there were three or four cars out front at the gas pumps. Hope he didn't also cut in line!
DeleteNo tapping. People are crazy these days. I'm not going to poke the bear.