Okay, so it’s another pneumonia related post, but since it’s still hanging on me, it can hang on you too. That’s just the kind of mood I’m in, peoples. I am much better, but tend to get exhausted after walking, like, ten feet. Our parking situation is less than ideal, which you’d know if you’d read my post (No Parking). So, since I get so tired so easily my boss suggested I get temporary handicapped parking.
Here’s where it starts to get fun, guys. I asked the doctor for a note and took it to the university’s parking services, because I figured they controlled everything on their campus (they try to, at least). Well, not that. So I went back to the doctor and he filled out a form and I signed and some notary person signed and I took it to the DPS in town and paid five dollars and ta-da I had a fancy new placard to hang from my rearview mirror. It’s not exactly stylish. I’m thinking of fixing it up with some glitter and rhinestones so it can be all handicapped blingy.
Wheee, close parking! Finally something halfway decent was coming out of this lung crapola. Granted, I would have preferred breathing clearly to having a nice parking place, but I’ll take what I can get.
But it gets EVEN BETTER, guys. I have no problems the first day, but the second day using my handicap bling I’m walking toward the library’s back entrance (which is just a short distance away – Score!) when another employee (not of the library) who by the way is fugly and annoying says to me ever-so-helpfully, “You know they’ll catch you for parking there.”
WTF? I’d like to say I swung around and flipped him off or some other appropriate response but I never do that because I’m just too stunned that anyone would be such an asshole. I don’t know WHY this surprises me, since there are assholes everywhere, but somehow it always does. Instead I say, “I have a placard.” Meanwhile it’s blowing cold air out in the fucking parking lot and I’ve got my face buried in my jacket defending myself to Mr. Dickhead. He responds, “Is it yours? Because that’s what they’ll look for, if it belongs to you.” Or some other such shit. Oh, great. So now I mug handicapped people for their placards? WTF???
I say, “I have pneumonia,” somehow leaving off the “asshat” part and go inside. Meanwhile I’m still fuming. I mean, really? Where does he get off? So you’re not handicapped unless you’re in a wheelchair or on crutches or have an arm hanging by a tendon or something? Sorry, moron, but there are other disabilities, like, I dunno, LUNG DISEASE. It’s listed in the little form thingy that you fill out to get one of these awesome fucking placards. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? Because you’re a dickhead.
Another thing that really struck me was how he acted as if he was concerned for my welfare here. Like, oh dear, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with the law, sweetie. The policemen get madfaced when you park where it’s illegal. Really? No shit, Sherlock. I’ve only been driving for 20 freaking years, so I kind of picked up on that already. It’s not like handicapped parking is unique to the university. And if I have the placard? I must have stolen it! So I’m an illegal parker and a thief! I have this image of myself knocking over some little old lady, grabbing her placard, laughing evilly, and dashing off into the night with my prize. What.the.fuck.
But here’s the most important part. Even if I WAS a thief and illegally parking, why would this be his business? I’ve seen him around some, sure, but we aren’t pals by any stretch of the imagination. If I’m stupid enough to park illegally and rob old ladies, would I really listen to reason from Fugly Ass here? Just – shut up. Shut the fuck up. You’re not trying to help me. You’re jealous because I have a good parking place and I don’t look sufficiently disabled to you. My dear, I’d love to give you just an ounce of this pneumonia so you can see how it feels. Also a kick in the nuts. It’s none of your business.
So shut up. The world would be a much better place if more people just SHUT THE HELL UP. End rant.