Saturday, March 31, 2018

The F Bomb, Repeatedly

They pulled into the parking space just as we got there. It was an accessible spot, right by the big, giant, box store that sells big, giant, things. They ran, at quite a clip, towards the store. We continued on and found the last disabled spot, 4 stalls in, down a fairly steep slope that lead upwards to the store. We ended up parking facing towards, but down 3 stalls, from the big truck ready to carry big things. They came back, trotting along behind a big cart with a set of big things in it.

They quickly began to load the stuff into the truck. This couple did nothing slowly. It was race, race, race. They are the kind of people who's pedometer would give up and just leave a message, 'you're fucking fit, why do you need me?' I'm sitting in the front seat of our car, looking at them and looking at the long, long, steep slope up to the store. I realize that they've pulled in the 'for just a few minutes' to load the stuff they bought.

Joe was getting the wheelchair out of the car, having said before getting out that he'd help me get up to the store if I needed help. Yeah, a wheelchair parking spot so far from the store is really good fucking planning. And, on top of that to have the parking lot slope steeply down so that the push up would induce a fucking nose bleed, and the ride down scare the shit out of you, that's nice too. The Marquee D' Sade and Peter Singer's love child probably were involve in creating this lot.

I decided that I would stare at them, and hope my stare carried with it meaning. They looked over at our car, as they were finishing putting the giant box into their giant, need a ladder to get into, truck. They saw me, my wheelchair and my glare. They let the cart go, because shitty thoughtless people are simply shitty thoughtless people in all areas of their mean little lives.

So, my glare.

It telegraphed how selfish they were.

It noted that there was a fucking spot beside the store for loading.

It maybe name called a little bit, just a very little bit, well when compared to the big box in the big truck.

And what did they do as I got in my chair, never breaking my gaze? They waved.

They fucking waved.

With all fingers.

And smiled a happy, 'oh look dear there's a cripple, lets show him how nice we are,' smile.

I pushed up the hill, grunting like I was shitting an actual brick. Which I should have done earlier so I could have used it to tie a note to and toss to them.

What do you think the note would have said??


ABEhrhardt said...

I hope you took pictures that included their license plate number and a time stamp, and sent it to the police. Very obviously.

Stares are nice - but people like that think ONLY of themselves all the time, because, you see, they'd never BE crippled.

clairesmum said...

it's not your job, or Joe's, to be the 'parking lot police', too.

Liz Miller said...

That is enraging