Friday, July 29, 2005


We were out and about the other day running errands in one of the snooty towns on the Gold Coast when we came upon a Carvel. I'm never one to pass up Carvel, so I flipped my blinker on and started pulling into the parking lot. The Tahoe driving lady ahead of me started taking a spot right up front, but half way in, she stopped and started backing up. Meanwhile, I'm half in the lot and my tail end is sticking out into a four lane road. I mumble "WTF?" as Mrs. Tahoe just about backs into me and takes another spot in the lot. Ah, she saw it was a handicap spot. My wife looks at me with rolled eyes like I did something wrong. As as last ditch effort to save my manhood I mumble "That's how people get killed." (Jesus, that was stupid. People get killed from a fender bender, yeah right.)

So Mrs. Tahoe gets out with Grandma Tahoe and her brood and goes to the counter. I notice one of the little Tahoes wants to get behind the counter and touch everything. Then he's looking up and around and Grandma Tahoe quietly grabs his hand. The other two little Tahoes are ordering their ice cream; one with sprinkles, one with chocolate syrup. Mrs. Tahoe orders a fat-free cup (no sprinkles) for herself, a chocolate cup for Grandma (chocolate sprinkles), and a cup (no sprinkles) for Jr. Tahoe.

When we make it outside the Tahoes are enjoying their ice cream. Jr. Tahoe has barely touched his and is looking around touching this and that. I get it, Jr. Tahoe is probably challanged. I feel even worse about the parking as Mrs. Tahoe can probably justify parking in the handicap spot. We finish our ice cream, Jr. Tahoe looks at me and I smile back. He smiles. Cool, maybe he forgives me at least.

As we're walking out past "the" parking spot, Grandma-but-I-won't-admit-it Mercedes pulls into the handicap spot, jumps out of the S-class and heads for the counter. I shake my head knowing I'll get another look if I say something. Out of the blue, my wife says, "Um, you know that's a handicap spot, don't you?" Grandma-but-I-won't-admit-it Mercedes looks startled but heads back to the car and looks at the handicap signs as plain as day. She keeps circling the car like the signs will magically disappear until the Tahoes get up and head for their troop transport. Grandma Tahoe shoots her a look but Mrs. Tahoe is too busy tending to messy faces to notice. Busted. As we're pulling out, I see Grandma-but-I-won't-admit-it Mercedes slinks back to the car and moves it.

"That's how people get killed", I mutter to a smirk.


Peter K said...

Hah! You think that's bad? We had folks who are very capable and definitely non-handicapped who would pull into the handicapped parking spots and fumble in the glove box and pull out a handicap permit which they then proceed to hang on the rear view mirror.

It is so obvious that they only have that permit because they are the designated driver for their handicapped dependent(s) (kids or elderly parents).

Robert Vollman said...

I use the handicap stall in bathrooms. I like the extra space, the higher seat, and the bar comes in handy sometimes.

Joel Garry said...

I forget which comedian says it:

"They're in such a hurry they just read half the sign: 'Handi Parking!'"

I still chuckle about my friend.

Anonymous said...

That was a good story sounds like my Grandma keep on writing great ones..Chevy Man

Tom H said...

I think this describes it well