(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*

(My friend works at a shopping center car park near where he lives. On a rather busy day, he watches as someone tries to pull into a space, but a woman suddenly runs into said space when he is halfway in.)

Woman: “Reserved! Reserved!”

Driver: *after winding the window down* “You can’t do that.”

Woman: “Yes, I can! This place is reserved!”

(My friend walks over.)

Friend: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t reserve parking spaces. Besides, he’s already halfway in.”

Woman: “But I was here first!”

Friend: “No, you weren’t, and if you’re out here, where’s your car?”

(She points to the car behind the first; an elderly couple are sat in the front.)

Woman: “Those are my parents. I got out in order to look for a space.”

Friend: “It doesn’t work like that, ma’am. This driver was here before you.”

Woman: “No, he f****** wasn’t!”

(The woman stands there for the next few minutes, refusing to move. A line of cars begins to form, all honking. Finally, the woman has enough and storms over to her car.)

Woman: “F*** you!”

(The driver of the first car pulls all the way in, and he opens the door to climb out.)

Friend: “Sorry about that.”

Driver: “It wasn’t your fault.”

(By this time, the woman has climbed into the back of her car, and she gives them the middle finger repeatedly. The driver then blows her a kiss. We need more drivers like this.)

(I am waiting in the drive-thru line at a popular coffee shop and have my car in park. The car in front of me leaves, and it’s my turn to pay. Before I can shift my car into drive, the truck behind me starts to go and bumps into me. I roll down my window, turn around and look at the guy, and then give my cash to the employee.)

Guy: *who hit me* “HEY! YOU BACKED INTO ME!”

Me: “I absolutely did not. I’m going to pull up to those parking spots, and after you pay, go ahead and pull up.”

(I pull up and wait, then get out of my car. I see there’s zero damage at all. He pulls in next to me and gets out. There is also zero damage to his truck, but I quickly start snapping photos.)

Guy: “YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR THIS!”

Me: “For one thing, I was in park. You hit me. For another thing, there is no damage to either of our vehicles.”

Guy: “I’LL TELL YOU THIS! I’M FEELING PRETTY WHIPLASHED.”

Me: “Okay, let’s go ahead and call the police, but just so you know I have a dash cam and a rear cam. My dash cam does indicate my speed, and that I was in park, and my rear cam will have notated this accident.”

Guy: “YOU KNOW WHAT? I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR YOU!” *drives away*

(I did end up filing a police report later, just to cover my own butt, but nothing ever came of it. And when I watched the rear cam footage online, he was clearly on his phone when he hit me, and made the biggest “oops” face to boot.)

(I’ve just finished with my shopping, and I come out to my van to find a lady standing next to the car in front of mine, looking at the bumpers. The other car was there before I got there, and I left around a foot of space between that car and mine when I parked. When I start loading my groceries into my car, the woman comes stomping between our cars.)

Woman: “You parked too close!”

Me: *thinking that a foot of distance really isn’t “too close”* “I’m sorry?”

Woman: “You could have scratched my car!”

Me: “Glad that I didn’t, then.”

(I’ve finished putting the last of my bags in the car, so I shut it, and I turn and start pushing my cart towards the cart return area. The woman follows.)

Woman: “You need to leave more space! You could have hit my car!”

(I was not even bothering to respond at this point. I put the cart away, walked around her to get back to my car, and got in, while she kept complaining about me being “too close.” She actually rapped on the glass of my car after I got in, but I just started my car and pulled out, taking some care to avoid running over her toes, before driving off. Looking in the mirror, I saw her pouting with her arms folded in front of my now-empty space. Sorry that I’m not willing to play along with your delusions, miss.)

Let me start by saying that I am enormously grateful to live in a country that has safety nets for the unfortunate and the ill; without them, I’d be dead. Sadly, the way that the current administration handles applications and treats disabled people is criminal.

Sit tight; this one really sucks (until the end).

I had been called in for my PiP assessment, a test where an unqualified person asks you vague questions and then lies on a form about your answers.

I had to be at their offices at eight am in a city a full hour’s drive from where I live. After getting lost twice because of road work, I finally found somewhere to park and hobbled to the office.

The appointment was a nightmare. The woman clearly wasn’t listening to anything I said and did a “physical assessment” of my condition from across the room without leaving her chair — an assessment which took my specialist, with 40 years in the field, six months and millions of pounds worth of machinery to figure out. By the time she was finally done, I was emotionally and physically drained as I staggered out to the main office, only to be greeted with the news that there were yet more forms I had to fill out.

Once I was finally able to make my escape, I was barely holding it together as I headed back to my car, thinking only about getting home and hiding in bed.

Then, I tried to pay for my parking. It turned out that the only parking structure near their office had had a massive recent price hike, and I didn’t have enough money to pay to get my car.

I was in tatters, guys.

I was in so much pain I could barely stand, I was an hour from home, and I had no idea what to do. So, there I was, a 40-year-old guy with tears on my face, trying to explain to the lady at the other end of an intercom what was going on when a young couple who had, I guess, heard what was going on just rocked up and said, “Don’t worry; we’ve got this,” and paid for my ticket.

It wasn’t a huge amount — £20 — but the simple kindness of those two strangers gave me the strength to get home.

I doubt they’ll ever see this and I wish I’d been in any state to thank them properly for their help, but that gesture got me through that awful day.