On my way to the range today...a pet peeve

On my way to the range, I encountered this fine piece of humanity at the local stop-n-rob.

I actually saw her get out of her car--a woman perhapd 50 years old with no apparent disability whatsoever. I called out to her and told her that she was in a handicapped spot, but she just gave me a dismissive look and walked into the store. So...

Apparently she likes the Pittsburgh Steelers. There might be a mental handicap there. Still...

After I put my camera away, she came out and demanded to know why I was photographing her car. I pointed out her faux pas, at which point she indicated the yellow-lined zone next to her car and told me that that was the handicapped spot.
"No," I explained, "that is marked off so that real disabled people with wheelchairs or crutches have enough room to get out of their cars."
She then told me that the spot on the other side of that zone was for handicapped, and that the striped zone was "for disabled passengers". The denial was strong in this one.

She then told me that I had illegally photographed her car and that she was going to call the police. I told her that I'd love that, because when they showed up, I'd insist that they write her the ticket for parking in the handicapped space. She again claimed that she wasn't in a handicapped spot, and I pointed out the big blue wheelchair painted on the pavement under her car. At this point, she quickly jumped into her Jag and backed out, then sped off. I guess that she didn't want to talk to the police after all.

Yeah, I know. I can be a jerk sometimes. And if feels pretty good.

I only wish I'd gotten her picture as well. Funny thing is, she was wearing an ID tag that looked an awful lot like the ones that hospital staffers wear. I might have to send a link to this post over to nearby Jefferson Memorial Hospital and see if someone there recognizes her cute little mid-life crisis car.

My fitness and my social skills apparently both need work

So last night I went out for a run, my first in over a year. Of course I have many excuses as to why I haven't been running: too hot recently, an injury, massive overtime at work before that, waiting for a new running leg to be made and fitted before that...sigh. Hard to believe that I was doing ten-mile runs just a couple of years ago. But I've been sitting a lot since then..and eating well, too. Now I'm out of fighting trim, to say the least. And with the possibility of a second Obama term on the horizon, I can't afford to be out of fighting trim because we may well end up fighting for our freedoms and very survival if he keeps getting his way.

So I ran. And it wasn't an easy run, or a particularly fast run. But at least I hit my target distance and finished my run without having to stop or slow to a walk. It's a start.

Then I went to 7-11 to get gas and some bottled water. I pull into the parking lot and park, and I notice a Mercedes SUV sitting in the store's only "handicapped" slot. Out of habit, I look to see it it has a handicapped tag or a placard on the mirror. It has neither. Now this is a pet peeve of mine, since I well remember when I needed that spot, and since I still know people who legitimately do need it. I'm still looking at it when I see it's lights flash as if someone just deactivated it's alarm. Sure enough, a large blonde woman walks out of the store, head glued to a cell phone. She's walking just fine.

I shouldn't say anything, but right then I'm tired, and I'm hot, and I'm still wearing my running foot--the one that's just a fiber and steel "J" where a foot and ankle would normally be. So I feel like saying something.

"Excuse me," I say. "I can't help but notice that you don't have a handicapped placard displayed."

"Hang on a minute," she says to whoever is on the phone. Then she turns to me. "I'm actually in the process of getting one right now," she says. "Do you want to see a note from my doctor?"

"No," I reply. "That's between you and your conscience. You know whether or not you're supposed to be parked there, taking the spot from anyone who really needs it." I walk on into the store.

Now about a minute later, she comes barging into the store, just about the time that I get to the check-out counter. "I'll have you know that I have a concrete ankle," she exclaims. I have to walk about a thousand steps a day and.." I raise my hand to cut her off. I'm not really interested in talking to her any more or giving her a soap box to get up on. "We're done," I tell her. "If you're supposed to park there, then you're fine. If you're not, that's on you."

But she's not going to let it go. "It's not your job to police the world," she says indignantly. Oh, so now I'm the bad guy for pointing out her bad behavior. Well maybe I will play a bit now.

"Actually it is my job. It's every citizen's job to say something when people do wrong."

"I have a condition!" she exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the store.

I just looked at her, standing there on two feet yelling at the one-legged guy about a "condition". "There ain't nothing wrong with you that a little diet and exercise won't cure," I said.

"WHAT?!" she yelled back. "What did you say?"

"I'm just saying that maybe if you dropped ten or seventy pounds, maybe you'd be able to walk the extra couple dozen feet from the regular parking spaces."

This elicited applause from a guy over by the beer cooler and a string of profanity from the woman.

"You kiss your momma with that mouth?" I asked.

She cursed me again, then stormed out. She even tried to slam the door, but the door had one of those self-closing mechanisms and it wouldn't slam.

The store manager behind the counter just looked at me. "I thought you weren't going to do that here any more," she said. (OK, this wasn't the first time. Or the second. but in my defense, it has been a while.) I just shrugged. What can I say? I gotta be me.

Dishonorable Mention: Kams Taxi of Charles Town WV

So yesterday at about 1:30 PM, I stop off at the local 7-11 to get a paper and a cup of coffee. As I pull into the lot, I notice that the one handicapped parking spot is occupied, not by a car, but by a silver Toyota taxicab belonging to Kams Taxi , a local cab company. The driver is sitting in the cab and a passenger is in the back seat, and the car is completely obstructing the handicapped spot.

Now I don't lay claim to needing the spot. In fact, despite missing a leg, I refuse to use those spots as I can get around quite well even on a bad day. However I have not forgotten the day when I did need them, or the many actual disabled people that I've met during my own rehab who really do need those spots. As a result, I don't think too highly of selfish scumbags who cavalierly zip into those parking places just because it's convenient for them.

So I parked my vehicle and walked into the store, stopping to give a nasty look at the Kams driver--an older prune-faced white woman. I looked at her, then looked up at the Handicapped Parking Only sign that was right in front of her cab. Then I walked on, making sure that she was able to get a good look at my prosthetic leg, which wasn't hard as I was wearing cargo shorts. I said nothing to her, because quite frankly, some people just aren't worth talking to.

This should have been the end of it, but a minute later, as I'm standing in line in the store, the cab's female passenger came inside and loudly accosted me while I waited in line.
"The driver wants to know if you have a handicapped parking pass," she announced.
"What does that matter?" I asked. "If I do or if I don't, it still doesn't excuse her being in that spot."
She then started rambling non-stop about how they both looked at my car and didn't see a handicapped placard so I have no right to complain that they were in that spot. I merely pointed to my nice plastic leg, which is visible for all to see. She yelled: "Well I'm sorry that you're handicapped, but you deserve it for being such a nasty person. God bless you!" And with that very Christian demonstration of kindness, she stormed back out of the store and hopped into the waiting cab. The cab driver then jammed the car into reverse and bolted back without looking, very nearly slamming into another car that was approaching the handicapped spot. Both vehicles had to brake sharply to prevent the collision that the Kams driver nearly caused, but the cab driver didn't stick around to apologize--she just sped off.

Oh--and the woman in the car that the Kams cab nearly clobbered? A real handicapped woman who got out of her car with a walker. She wasn't amused, either.

You can't make drama like this up, folks.

So for rudely and inconsiderately taking up a handicapped parking spot, and for sending a passenger into a store to pick a fight over the driver's conduct, and for operating her vehicle without due care and nearly causing a totally preventable crash, I am awarding Kams Taxi Dishonorable Mention here...and I'm also forwarding a complaint to the county licensing commission and the Sheriff's Department.

And if you found this story because you were trying to look up the phone number to Kams Taxi, take my advice and get a ride from someone else. That Kams driver could easily get you killed, either by crashing or by picking fights with people that she doesn't know anything about.

Oh, and a bit of follow-up investigating suggests that the woman driving the cab was none other than Dottie, the actual owner of that two-cab company. Not impressive. Not impressive at all.

And to be fair, I delayed a bit before posting this to give Dottie or someone else at Kams a chance to respond to my private complaint letter, but as it appears that a response isn't going to be coming any time soon...

Whack Woman Wednesday, Pt. 1

Yep. Today I'm just writing about Whacky Women...and not the good kind.

I'll start with this one--Martena Clinton.Looks pretty whiny, doesn't she? It's even more ridiculous when you realize that she did something stupid, went home, called the Washington Post, then arranged to meet them back down where she did the stupid thing, put her black party dress back on, and stood and posed for the picture and the accompanying story that was supposed to make America feel sorry for her and angry at the US Secret Service and Washington DC Police Department. And now it's backfiring onto both her and the Washington Post.

Basically, it all began on Saturday when Clinton drove down from her home in Randallsville, MD to attend a meeting of the Congressional Black Caucus at the Washington Convention Center where Obama was scheduled to speak. She parked her car outside the auditorium and ran inside like a good little racist Democrat, only to return later and find that her car was gone. Turns out that it, along with several other cars, had been relocated a few blocks as a security precaution related to Obama's visit. With help of her fellow racist friend Gardine Tiggle, she eventually found her car, just like everyone else presumably did.

Now most people would just accept that, but not Martena Clinton. She is entitled to...well...to something. So she arranged the press conference and posed for the story, and admitted proudly that she'd parked her car in a handicapped spot near the convention center because she didn't want to be late and possibly miss even a minute of the program.

Of course she's not handicapped. She's able-bodied and doesn't have a handicapped placard. But since her husband does, she decided that she automatically gains the right to use it for her own purposes, too, even when he's not with her, as was the case Saturday night. So screw any real handicapped people, because, dammit...Martena Clinton is not going to walk an extra block and miss out on seeing even a few seconds of Obama.

Well Martena got her 15 minutes of fame, only it's not from people sympathizing with her and bashing the mean old police...it's from regular decent people and handicapped-rights organizations, who are outraged that she'd so flagrantly abuse her husband's disabled parking placard and even have the nerve to admit it as if she'd done nothing wrong. The Washington Post, her collaborator on this stupid stunt, got hundreds of angry comments about her conduct, and the city has reportedly been called upon to issue Martena a ticket for parking illegally in that spot--a $250 ticket in DC.
Now I won't hold my breath on her getting one, since it happened in DC, a Democrat-controlled city, and since she's an active supporter of the Democrats.

And how do I know this last fact, you ask? Well it's simple. Thanks to the wonders of the internet, it took me about thirty seconds to discover that Martena Clinton of 18 Vivian Vale Court, Randallstown, MD, 21133, gave a hundred dollars to help elect at least one Democrat to office back in 2006. So now if you're still incensed at Martena's selfishness and her belief that she's more deserving of handicapped parking spots than any mere wheelchair-bound cripple is, you have her address and can drop her a letter explaining how life is supposed to work.

Another good run tonight. 7 miles before it was cut short by darkness, rain and lightning. It was a push, but I'm training for something specific now. Not going to say what just yet, but all will be revealed in time.

After the run, I still had enough energy to "counsel" an able-bodied 20-something year old woman at the 7-11 who felt that she needed the handicapped parking spot more than any disabled person who might come along. I simply told her quite politely that it was my hope that she never finds herself disabled and in need of those parking spaces, and she went off and started yelling across the parking lot at me about how all the other spots close to the store were taken up, and how she didn't see no handicapped tag on MY vehicle. (That's not the point. I don't use those spots any more but I remember what it's like and still know many others who do need them.)

I didn't feel like arguing so I politely told her that those spots are for disabled people, at which time she started yelling something or other about how it was raining and no one else with a handicapped tag was there and she needed to park. I (again politely) told her that being fat isn't a handicap, and for some reason that really seemed to strike her the wrong way because she began to curse at me loudly and most profanely in front of her two little kids.

Tsk! Some people...

Forgive me father, for I have...

Sinned? Hmmmm... Good question there for a Ten Commandments lawyer. I didn't lie, cheat, steal, covet, kill, or worship any other gods, but I did sort of misbehave.

The alleged offense occurred today shortly after I left the prosthetist's office with a new foot, able to walk again for the first time in over five weeks. I stopped at a burger joint on the way back, and as I was walking (yes, walking!) back out, I saw a mini-van park and I watched the driver get out and head for the door and I even nodded to the driver as we passed each other. And as I got near his van, I noticed that it was parked in the only handicapped spot for the restaurant. He had no handicapped tags, and no placard displayed. He'll I'd just seen him and he was about my age and walking a lot better than I was. He wasn't handicapped--just a fat, lazy slob who felt like taking the parking spot.
I thought about going back inside and calling him out, but realistically that only leads to trouble. As I got into my jeep, which was parked next to his van, I noticed that both his left and right front windows were down. Pity that I didn't have anything to toss in there. Oh wait...I did.
In the back seat was the bag I'd been using for trash. It had a few empty coffee cups, some dirty napkins, a couple of bananna peels and an apple core or two, amongh other pieces of debris. So shame on me, but I took my trash bag over to his van and dumped it out on the passenger seat.

I drove away feeling a bit smug, but now I feel like I shouldn't ought to have done that since I am trying to live a better life these days.
But I just finished checking my Bible and there's nothing in there about dumping litter in someone else's van so maybe I'll get a pass on this one.

Fun with asshats

"What is an asshat," you ask? Well it's one of those people that go around with their head up their... well you can figure it out.

We see them everywhere. They're always ahead of us at the store, with 26 items in the "12 items or less" line. (They usually want to pay by check too.) Or they're at the ATM ahead of you, continually re-inserting their card to conduct a hundred different transactions, totally ignoring the line building behind them. Sometimes they're at the drive-thru restaurant window in front of you. They're the ones with the long list of what they're eight co-workers all want to eat. And of course they want to have the cashier ring up each order separately. These are the people that just don't think--or care--about other people as they wander along through life.

Well I met one today. I went to the post office in town and as I waited to turn left across traffic into the small parking lot behind the building, a rather obese woman in a small, newish SUV made a right turn into the lot ahead of me and pulled into the only two parking spaces there. And she really did--she straddled the line between the two sports almost perfectly, effectively preventing anyone else--me included--from using either space. I pulled in behind her and rolled down my window as she got out.
"Excuse me," I asked nicely. "Can I have one of those parking spots?" She looked at me and said "I don't see why not," then turned to walk away.
"Ma'am, you're blocking BOTH spots," I said loudly, figuring that she'd get the clue and move her SUV. I mean, here I am still using crutches and both they and my Handicapped Parking placard were clearly visible to her. But she just shouted back: "I'll only be a minute" and quickly walked off with a small box of mail under her arm.

OK, so it's going to be like that, huh?

I took note of her West Virginia personalized license plate. It was something like: "MARNIE". I could remember that tag. I then squeezed my Jeep Cherokee into the spot to her left. There was just enough room for me to get my Jeep in there, but it meant that my passenger side was 6-8 inches from her driver's side door. Oh well. I took my crutches and got out, then I headed into the Post Office. As I hopped up the steps, "Marnie" was just coming back out. She avoided making eye contact with me. Asshat.

So I went inside and waited for the clerk. There was only one person ahead of me and he was just about finished. Cool. That almost never happens here. Usually you wait forever. I got to the counter and told the clerk that I needed a money order, and just as he began to make one out for me, Marnie stormed back in. She pulled open the door and glared at me. "You need to come out and move you car," she said loudly.

"My car is legally parked and I'll be out to move it when I'm finished," I replied, turning back to the clerk.

"You need to move it now! I can't get into mine and I need to leave!"

I took the money order from the clerk and turned to look at her. "Lady, you're the one that decided that you needed both parking spots. I asked you to move into one or the other so I could have one and you blew me off. I needed to park too and I used the small space that you left me. Now I'll be out in a couple of minutes and if that's not good enough, you might want to use your passenger side door and just scoot over." Then I began filling out my money order. As she turned to leave, I called out to her again. "By the way," I said. I know your license number and I know where you work." (The box of mail that she'd brought in was still sitting on the counter and it all bore the return address of a local business.) "If there's so much as a scratch on that Jeep when I get out there, I know where to find you.

She turned and stalked out, doing her best to slam the door.

I finished my business a minute or two later and hopped on out the door. Marnie must have managed the passenger door trick after all because her SUV was gone and there weren't any fresh marks in the dust on the side of my Jeep.

I realize that it wasn't very nice of me to mess with Marnie like that, but shame on me. I have this character flaw that always tempts me to engage asshats and sometimes I just can't resist. I hope that Marnie realizes that had she not been an asshat, this never would have happened. But I doubt it. Asshats rarely realize that they are asshats so she's probably still fuming about it. And I'm still chuckling.