And yet, alas, I climb the rickety stairs to the proverbial soapbox one more time. I check the microphone to make sure the connections to the amplifiers have proper continuity, I tilt my head slightly so that the rays of the sun might highlight the crags and ripples of the more photogenic side of my head, and I clear the phlegmy cobwebs that dangle and gather in my throat. Pausing ever so slightly for dramatic effect, I start to speak...
Today's complaint: Handicapped Parking.
Ok, now I heard a few of you groan out there. I'll let it be known right here, up front, that I'll have none of that. These are some valid points I need to make here, and if you find yourself unable to agree with what I am saying, then chances are you need to read this more than the rest of you rank cattle.
Like I said: Handicapped Parking.
I suppose it was a darned good idea at the time. Like so many things on this whirling madhouse of a planet, necessity was the mother of invention and there existed, so long ago, a great need for parking ease for the more limited members of our society. When the horse-drawn buggy was loaded up with kin and kid and the great dusty trek was made across the plains to the local Zippy-Mart, the last thing someone with only one leg from a particularly nasty bear encounter wanted to do was have to hitch up the team to a post 40 miles away, just to have to walk (and I'll have more to say on this HORRIBLE word later in the article) to the great steps of the establishment.
And so, we came up with a nice little idea that had us patting ourselves on the back for a good many years to come. The idea, in it's origin, was to provide, and clearly label, some convenient parking spaces for the select few of us that had trouble with the simple two-legged, upright, self- motivating, one foot in front of the other, locomotion, that many of us take for granted. In a word- walking.
Ok, since I have now used this fearful word twice in this article (I may have used it more than that, I'll be damned if I am going to waste my Saturday going back and counting), I'll step back from my main point (no pun intended) and talk about the word for awhile. Walking.... ah yes walking. You wonderful thing that comes FREE with life (without sending back a rebate coupon) and makes one FEEL so free. I love walking, and sometimes (you might want to sit down for this) I'll get right out there in the fresh air and sunshine and do it...... for FUN.
I see you have labeled me a madman now. Considering the source, I take the role gladly.
I know people who will drive 3 miles to save walking 30 feet. I know people who drive to the ends of their driveway to get the mail. It seems that everywhere in America, and parts of Texas, people have this fear of walking. Oh sure, it makes us look dorky as hell, with our legs and arms flailing in rhythmic motion as we propel ourselves across the sidewalks and roadways that serve as our travel surfaces, and I suppose that's a good reason as any to fear it. Still, it scares me when I think that most people will walk, in a year, what I personally will walk in just a week.
Which brings me back to my handicapped parking thing.
It's getting bad out there people, I don't mind telling you. Handicapped parking permits are on the increase, to the point where I fear if I went to my doctor and said "I sometimes sneeze for no reason, and after a long weekend my testicles ache", and he would say to me, "Gosh, that sounds serious. Would you like a handicapped parking permit?". I fear that one day we will have whole, vast, open lots of handicapped parking spaces, with a few odd spaces toward the back 40 of the parking areas labeled and set aside for people who are still, by societies mangled standards, able to move themselves from point A to point B.
But seriously, watch a bank of handicapped parking spaces sometime. I do, because it's a part of my job, so I know what you will see. A car will wheel in, a person who seems to have nothing wrong with them will drop his feet to the ground, close the door, and walk into a building. They don't limp, they don't need the aid of machines or mechanical devices to move, and they aren't carried on the backs of slaves (although some of them probably think they are in fact deserving of such treatment). In some places of employment, these people will emerge from the building several times a day (or several times an hour) and walk the equivalent of 10 times the length of the walk from the handicapped spot to a smoking area, inhale some carcinogens for awhile, and then walk back.
Now, before I type one more run-on sentence today, I will state, before the hate-mail starts pouring in, that there *IS* a need for handicapped parking. There are a good many people out there who are restricted to wheelchairs or need crutches, or whatever. I am not complaining about these people, I am complaining about the MAJORITY of handicapped parking users, the ones you will undoubtedly see over and over again. How does one spot a person who really needs a handicapped spot? He or she is the one driving slowly past the filled-to-capacity spaces.
There are people, and mind you, I know some, that have handicapped parking permits solely because they are obese. Please show me the logic in this. Why would a doctor recommend exercise and a sensible diet, perhaps putting the person on some kind of miracle drink engineered to help a person shed that unsightly bulk, and then have them able to park as CLOSE to the "Burger Billy's Fry-O-Rama" as possible? Do doctors get a big fat bonus check every time they hand out a handicapped permit?
"Say Doug, nice BMW you have there. Is that the new I-21-QZ series?".
"Yeah, I gave out handicapped parking permits to the entire cast of SURVIVOR this week, and to about half of EARTH, WIND, AND FIRE.".
"Great! Care to join me for lunch?"
"Sure. Save me a parking spot near the door."
"No need to!"
And they share the laughter.
But of course, the above scenario is just downright silly, and would never happen in our logical world. But then again, neither would my personal fantasy for handicapped parking sensibility........
I propose that there should be 3 different types of parking, and each person's vehicle should have the proper identifications to go with them. Level one- Handicapped Parking, reserved solely for people with trouble walking, need wheelchairs, etc. You people with heart trouble (and mind you, I *have* heart trouble, so if you want sympathy from me you'll have better luck arguing with a bag of kitty litter. Get out there and WALK you ignorant screwhead!), don't bother trying to park here. Then we have Level two- Normal parking. This is where the bulk of the population would park, using a "first come, first serve" approach, so set your alarms early. Level three- "You need the exercise" parking...
These parking spaces should be carefully planned out by surveyors, as not to be within one mile of ANYTHING (this might require some new zoning regulations). A plaque, bearing the inscription "I NEED THE EXERCISE" would be bolted to the car of the person (let's make it light up in neon letters while we are at it) and these people would be forced to park in the parking lot equivalent of Flingadoodoo, Australia. As they walked to their final destination, it should be common practice for people to remind them, each and every step of the way, that "they really need the exercise". This would be done in a very civil manner, of course, without any use of rocks.
Monetary fines would be a thing of the past. Instead of a fine involving money, the penalty for parking in a more convenient parking slot would be a day without food. Wealthy and poor alike would have an equal fine to pay, and the world would be much better to look at. And once again, before the hate-mail starts pouring in, keep in mind that I was once an obese slob myself, weighing it at nearly the weight of an Egyptian pyramid, and that I took off the weight, and keep off the weight by, you guessed it, walking.
But I don't set the rules of this world. In the grand and elaborate food chain of life, I am but plankton. But maybe that's a good thing, for when I set out on a weekend excursion to climb the mountains of this world (which I do quite often), and look down upon society from lofty reaches that can be reached one way and only one way, by walking and sweating, I know that I won't have to worry about bumping into someone who disagrees with me. And if for some reason I do, I can be sure that the slaves carrying their throne-litter will nod in agreement with what I have to say.
Perhaps I'll share my trail mix with them.
Dr. Torgo