Saturday I drove to town for the necessities. Bananas, shredded lettuce, milk, salsa, 44 oz Diet Coke, and lottery tickets. The parking lot at Save A Lot was crowded. Lucky for me, I found a space two down from the handicapped spots. Save A Lot has three of them. I never see any riding-cart people in the store. But the handicapped spaces usually have one with a car in it. Today all three were full, but I did not notice whether they had the proper plates or placards. It wasn't Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's day to patrol.
The inside of the store was not crowded. Two checkers open. I only waited a few seconds behind one customer. I boxed my stuff quickly, in a box I took out of the freezer that had contained only one loaf of garlic bread. You can't go wrong picking up a box in the aisles on Saturday. There are never any up front.
I picked up the box and carried it, rather than pushing the cart out, because I was not very near the door or the cart corral. I did not have The Pony with me to prance that cart over to where it belonged. As I went out the door, I saw a black truck parked in front of Save A Lot. Not in a space. In the road by the front window. Facing the wrong way. Parked! And to my right, in front of the laundromat, a white compact car. Parked! In the road, not the spaces. Facing the right way. And behind it, in front of Subway, a gray van. Parked! In the road, not the spaces. WHAT THE EFF?
An old lady who had been shopping in front of me came across toward the store, having unloaded her cart into the trunk of her sedan, which was parked beside T-Hoe. She smiled and raised her eyebrows.
"I guess we can park wherever we want now!" I said.
She nodded. "Looks like it."
Let the record show that there were spaces available on the row in front of T-Hoe. And the one behind it, along the road to the Super 8. I guess people are so very special that they cannot be bothered to park in designated spaces anymore.
I guess some people are more special than others.