I just came from the super market. Needed some eggs and milk. A quick trip. In and out. I parked my car on the far end of the lot, away from those nasty grocery wagons that go spinning out of control, and away from any oversized SUV with doors that open and nick the finish off any car foolish enough to be parked within two spaces. Even if there are empty spots close to the front door of the market, I usually park on the other side of the lot. And I would never… I repeat NEVAH!!! knowingly park in a spot marked handicap zone.
I’m fortunate to have all my limbs, though not all my marbles. I leave the spaces for those who need them. When my dear Aunt Rita was alive, her daughter was lucky enough to have one of those zone passes you hang on your rear view mirror. She would pull up close enough to the door of whatever shop her mother wanted to visit so the woman never had to walk long distances.
My friend Kathy was run over by a truck a couple of summers ago. She’s driving again, but has one of those special passes so she can park close and doesn’t have to limp hundreds of yards from her destination. Handicap zones are there for a purpose, to assist those who need them. They are not a “free spot” so you can do a quickee run into some store.
Apparently, not everyone else has the same respect. This afternoon at the market some fool without a pass had parked in one of those special handicap zones. In fact the fool had taken the only handicap zone spot in the lane. As I walked by, a second car, older than the first, a little beat up and with a zone card clearly dangling from the mirror, was being parked dead across the front of the first car, blocking it in. I happened to notice the guy who was driving the old car, but didn’t think much of it. I thought he was just stopping to pick someone up and in a moment or two would move on.
No way. This was a lesson in revenge.
It took me about fifteen minutes to pick up the few things I needed and get through the check out lines. When I emerged from the store, that second car — the one that had been parked in such a way as to block the first car — was still there. And the woman in the first car, a big shiny SUV, was clearly stuck. You could see she was fuming. When I passed by she was trying to squeeze her car out of the space she was in, but there was no way she could do it without hitting something. I’m sure she could have cared less about hitting the old car. After all, it had its share of nicks and dents. But her lovely new SUV was without blemish, so she just had to sit and wait.
That’s when I saw the guy returning to his car. He took his time sauntering across the lot, held his clicker in the air and directed its signal towards his old car. Lights flashed and the doors unlocked. But he didn’t open the door right away. Instead he stood calmly, staring at the woman in the shiny SUV. Sending her waves of revenge and satisfaction.
It was clear something was going to happen, but I didn’t wait around to find out. But the message the old guy intended for the SUV lady was sent and received. She’ll think twice before parking in a marked zone again.
That’s just me saying.