An Open Letter the “Handicapped” Old Lady at Ingles…*
Dear Ma’am,
I watched you park in a parking spot marked “Handicapped” at Ingles today. You had your driver’s side window down and you were puffing away on the lit cigarette that you held with your left hand, while parking your car, with your right hand (single-handedly!) I watched as you hopped out of your car like a rabbit, a spry skip in your step like a cheerleader hustling to hit her mark. Handicapped? Are you sure? You sure looked “Handi-capable!” Good for you…you show that little “Handicapped” sign you have hanging from your rear-view mirror who’s boss, because you sure fooled me…and apparently you fooled your doctor and the Department of Motor Vehicles, too. Or even better still…maybe you were driving your husband’s car (who may very well BE handicapped) and you just felt like cashing in on his misfortune so you could park a few feet closer to the store.) I just think that anyone who is voluntarily inhaling burning carcinogens into their lungs and then practically jogging into the grocery store hardly qualifies as any form of “disabled.”
Oh, I’m not being very nice, am I? I’m just being ugly. I should try to be more understanding, I know…let me put myself in your shoes, and then you can wear mine…a kind of updated version of the Aykroyd/Murphy movie “Trading Places.”
Ok, I’ll sit on my ass in your car smoking a cig, and you can go shopping with my 3 and 5 year olds…First you can go to Target. When you get inside, both kids will immediately run in two different directions. Grab them, and make sure you scold them, reminding them that you are in a store and they need to behave. Just as you are getting your grocery cart, the 3 year old will announce that, although she went to the bathroom 15 minutes ago at home, she now needs to “tinkle…AND pup.” Find the bathroom (does Target even have a bathroom you wonder? Oh…but I know the answer is “yes,” EVERY TIME I GO THERE) and bring both kids in. The boy will be kicking and screaming in protest since he has to go to the “Ladies” room. Remind both kids not to touch anything. Sit the 3 year old on the potty, hold the 5 year old’s hands…all in the privacy of the REGULAR sized stall, since we do not qualify as “Handicapped” and would hate to take that space up for someone who could actually utilize it. Turn red and sweat a little bit as the girl pushes out a turd while grunting, “HERE IT COMES!” Wipe 3 year old’s bottom, flush toilet with your foot, wash everyone’s hands. Start shopping. Try to avoid the “Toy” department at all costs, even though you will inevitably end up there due to begging and pleading from said children. Attempt to try on a pair of shoes. Try to find the 3 year old who is “hiding” while you shop for shoes. Yell at 5 year old to get off the dirty floor. Take kids into dressing room to try on fitness gear. Giggle when the boy announces “Momma, you look like a BALLERINA in that dress!” and then ask the girl to “shhh” when she says, “Momma, I can sthee your BOOBIESTH!”
End up with nothing since both kids start squirming and 5 year old has poked himself in the eye with a hanger. Remember…you are doing all of this in the REGULAR sized dressing room so as not to inconvenience healthy, normal old ladies smoking cigarettes the Handicapped. Leave Target with no less than $50 worth of “impulse retail therapy” merchandise…toys, DVD’s and of course, cute notebooks…none of which you originally intended to purchase. Try to devise a plan to break this news to your spouse, give up, change into slutty clothes and hope you can comfort your husband’s pain over the receipt with your Va-Jay-Jay.
Realize you are missing a few ingredients for dinner, pack two complaining kids back into the car. Arrive at Ingles. Struggle to get both kids out of the van, keeping everyone safe in the parking lot and holding hands with each other. Pick up the crying 3 year old with your left arm (who has just stubbed her toe), while still maintaining your hold on the 5 year old.
Then look over…and see me…cruising in like a summer breeze, smokin’ my cancer-stick, parking in the closest spot to the store, grey-hair billowing in the wind like smoke, hopping out of my vehicle and getting into the store before you. I mean, cop a limp or something, at the very least!
And hey, Super Fat Guy in the Jazzy Scooter…I’m coming after you, next. Since when does a lack of total self control qualify as “Handicapped” I ask you?! For God’s sake, if my pregnant friend can run a marathon certainly you can put down your fork. Whatevs. I’m just sayin’…
Sincerely,
Brownie
If you want to trade places, click HERE
6 comments:
Love it!!!!! The Target experience- spot on (I experienced it 30 minutes ago). And morbidly obese as an excuse for an easy ride drives me INSANE!
.....and thanks for the shout out!
Nearly all occupants of handicapped anything are there because they are so obese that their knees, ankles, feet and legs have surrendered. The rest seem rather spry and it absolutely galls me that they lack the modicum of courtesy to at least limp along to the store entrance.
You totally need to download and watch Penn and Teller's "Bullshit" which was on HBO. There is an episode about the ADA that you would love.
I totally agree with you! I have a van with a handicapped license and don't even park there unless my kid in the wheelchair is with us. It makes me so mad to see people that should thank God they can walk, park there with no apparent reason except they smoke or eat too much. We have said they are of "crippled spirit" because they cheat and no wheelchair will ever help them. True dat!
At least that person parked in a space. I can't stand the people who park in the fire lane right by the door. I just want to throw a can of peaches at them and ding their 50 thousand dollar luxury suv's.
My husband says, "Look! The fire department got a BMW sedan!"
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