…handicapped parking spaces

No…it’s not what you think it’s going to be.

Our dear finned friend, Shark, requested a rant as my first post.  Five minutes ago, I could have waxed moronic about how much I loathe WordPress, how CSS can fuck off and die until I re-read my handy-dandy manual and railed against fonts.  Alas, I wasn’t in touch with my inner hate so I have to draw on an experience from Monday.

Years ago, my father decided to arbitrarily launch his bad self through his dashboard window.  Six months of bed-ridden recovery later, he received his shiny, new hip. Bionic daddy – I has one!  He moves around very well with the exception of a drop foot that can hinder his mobility from time to time.  Even with this challenge, he has never filed for a handicap parking permit.

As I type this very post, my spine is deteriorating.  The days where I cannot walk are few and far between but they are, without a doubt, hell.  I will not file for a handicap parking permit.

You see…even those with mobility issues, be it intermittent or constant, reserve these precious spaces for those who truly need them.

The other day I had to loot the ATM.  Kang’s Coiffure House requests that all tips for hairdressers be remitted in cash.  I don’t carry cash.  Ever.  Not wanting to piss off the woman who could ruin my world for a very long time, I dragged myself to the ATM (or MAC machine for the Philadelphians).  Imagine my surprise when I notice a spry, 20-something pull into the *only* handicapped parking space as I was retrieving my cabbage.

Not one to bite her forked tongue, I turned around, looked the asshat directly in the eye and…

Kang:  Excuse me, sir.  Are you handicapped?  I didn’t see your placard.

Asshat:  No.  No I’m not.

Kang:  Would you like to be?

Asshat:  :stammers:  Ermmmm…

Kang:  :points at car:  Really.  So…you’re not handicapped and you’re parking where?  You’re parking in a spot for the handicapped when there is a standard parking space available – right next to you. That’s stupid.  Just stupid.

Asshat:  No.  You are.  (really – this is the level of discourse)

Kang:  No.  I’m not stupid.  I’m not the one wearing a Wal-Mart name tag.

If there is one thing that will drive me to the brink of causing a bar fight with a broken bottle, pissing on the meek is at the top of my list of things that enrage me.  Unless it is a matter of life or death, there is no reason to overlook common consideration for the sake of convenience.  None.  Ever.

For whatever reason, I find myself absolutely fearless when it comes to douchebaggery. I realize that I may very well be on the receiving end of a slap or worse, yet that critical filter that keeps people from confronting others simply does not exist in my world.

If you treat others poorly and I bear witness to it, I’m going to say something.  That’s just the way I roll.

4 thoughts on “…handicapped parking spaces

  1. I think I love you Kang, we are most definitely cut from the same cloth. Many a time I have sat on a train and handed tissues to those dirty oicks who have zero manners and who sitting there sucking their snot up and down their noses…the same goes for those inconsiderate bastards that must put their dirty shoes on the seats…like hello I don’t want my clothing dirtied and would you do that at home????

Words, words, glorious words! Give me all of your words!

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