I was not happy to see a usurper in my rightful handicap space at the gas station chicken store on the second rainy day in a row. It was bad enough the day before, when my space was available. But this time, I'd have to walk even farther. I put T-Hoe nose-down in the FREE AIR space. Nobody was in the vehicle. Normally, I'd wait until the usurper left. But his day, it was only going to rain harder, according to the futurecast. I wanted to get back home. So I got out, shoes squeaking on T-Hoe's running board, careful not to slip.
As I hobbled past the white SUV parked in the handicap spot with neither marked plates nor placard, I sensed someone on the other side opening the driver's door. As I rounded the back of the vehicle, the guy said something to me. I looked up through the rain, and saw AN OLD MAN. Okay. I was not mad about the usurper any more. He was an OLD MAN, kind of hunched over. Probably arthritic and aching that day, just like I was.
"Do you need this space? I can move."
"No, I'm already parked. It's easier just to go in."
"I don't know which one of us would be faster."
"We could have a race, heh, heh! If it wasn't raining."
I went on towards the roof and the door, and he got into his SUV. Here's the thing. That OLD MAN was polite about it. By calling out to me, it seemed like he was apologizing. Unlike the Ram truck guy who is not even old, who just sits there, taking up the space. Or the lady who sits in her sedan, scratching her tickets.
