For The Disabled Parking “Looks Like We Made It”

(Both my mom and my oldest brother are disabled — her from back surgery, him from a motorcycle accident that required a plate in his leg, then later on an accident at a construction site where he fell off a ladder and went feet-first into a huge pile of drywall, leaving him needing reconstructive surgery on his ankles. We’re going to the post office to put some bills in the mail directly. I can’t stand my brother’s music, so I have my CD walkman with me and I’m listening to Barry Manilow. The parking lot is crowded but there’s one handicapped space left, so we throw up the placard and I get out to put the mail in the inside box. A woman taps me on the shoulder, so I take one headphone off my ear.)

Woman: “Excuse me. Do you have a handicapped placard?”

Me: *pointing to it* “Yes, my brother and mom are both disabled, and you can see it’s hanging up.”

Woman: “Well, my mother is disabled and I just had to park on the other side of the parking lot.”

Me: “Well, we do have a placard.”

Woman: “I should’ve been able to park there since I have a placard for my mother!”

Me: *motioning to where the placard can be clearly seen* “So do we.”

(I put my headphones back on and head inside, annoyed that this woman kept me from doing what would’ve taken me less than ten seconds just to whine when we have a placard, too. She’s gone when I get back to the car.)

Brother: “She was still shaking her head and talking to you when you walked away.”

Me: *sighs and goes back to listening to Barry Manilow*