The view out my windshield.
Says “TEMPORARY” but I’m afraid that’s wishful thinking.
I put off requesting one of these tags for a long while. Had myself convinced I was going to wake up one morning and my back problems would have miraculously cured themselves overnight. Hasn’t happened. Ain’t gonna happen. In fact, things have gotten worse, two vertebrae are slip-sliding around in there now, and surgery’s probably in the offing. Couple of other things yet to try first. Meanwhile, I’m glad to have the tag. It’s been very helpful. But I still try hard not to use the handicapped spaces, especially when there are only one or two in the lot or there’s a regular slot open that’s not to far a hobble from the door. There are people in a lot worse shape who need the spaces. Yeah, I’m a saint.
Actually, what I am, or what I’m becoming, is the Handicapped Parking Space Sheriff. It’s always bugged me when I see abled people taking a handicapped space, but now I’m on the watch for it and I don’t keep my mouth shut and let scofflaws off with a disapproving glare.
Me: You forgot to hang your tag in the window.
Scofflaw: Oh. I don’t have one.
Me: Then you’re parked illegally.
Scofflaw: I was in a hurry.
Me: There’s no I Was In A Hurry exemption. It’s illegal and selfish!
That one’s routine. Last week, after Ken’s karate lesson, he and I went out for pizza, as usual. (Well, he went out for pizza. I went out for salad. Sigh.) And when we pulled into the pizza parlor’s small lot we were blocked from our usual parking space by an RV parked broadwise across six spaces including the handicapped space.
This is one of the places where I don’t use the tag because I don’t need to, no space is all that far from the door, and we were able to find an open slot on the other side of the lot. But like I said, I’m the sheriff.
Me (to someone inside the RV reading a newspaper): You’re blocking the handicapped space!
Him: Oh, I know. I’m just picking up a pizza.
Me: Ah. I see. Well, that’s all right then. Have a good night.
Me (really): That’s not an excuse. You’ve got the whole lot. You’ve got twenty feet of room ahead of you.
Him: I know. (With a gesture indicating the RV.) Just these things are hard to maneuver.
Me (lifting my cane): So are these. So are wheelchairs.
Him: I’m sorry. I’ll be quick. I’ll go check on the pizza now.
He dashed inside ahead of us and do I need to add he didn’t hold the door?