There were no handicap parking spaces available at 10Box on Sunday. We'd had a few snow flurries overnight. The temperature was 31 when I left home. We had snow on our deck and steps. Most of the town parking lots were clear. I parked on the end of a regular aisle, and hoofed it past the handicap spaces and into the store.
As I came out, gingerly stepping over a would-be puddle that was covered with salt, I stopped to wait for a car that was kind of sideways on the driving lane in front of the store. Imagine my surprise when the driver put her window down.
"Are you okay? Are you able to walk?"
"Yes. I'm fine. I just have stiff knees."
"Where are you parked?"
"Just right over there. I'm okay. But thank you SO MUCH for asking!"
"Okay. You're welcome."
As much as I try to tell myself I'm getting around okay, it seems not to be the case. I am mortified that people notice my lack of mobility. But on the other hand, my faith in (most of) humanity has been restored.
I don't like being a noticeable gimp. If people who want to help me notice, so do the ne'er-do-wells who might see me as an easy target for purse-snatching. Thank the Gummi Mary, I don't carry my purse on my arm. I don't take it in at all, unless I'm shopping. In which case I put it in the cart child seat, and keep a hand on it.
2 comments:
Gimpiness can only be hidden for so long, eventually it shows whether we like it or not and it's nice to be offered help so we can politely say thank you but no.
River,
The only positive aspect is that it HAS partially restored my faith in humanity. People holding the door for me, and asking if they can help me.
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