Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Incident at Starbucks

The SUV with the special license plate, the owner of which was apparently awarded a Bronze Star, was parked in one of two handicapped parking spaces outside of Starbucks and had no handicapped parking placard displayed. A woman was seated in the passenger seat. I went into Starbucks with Stacey, who was already dialing the police department. She stayed outside the door.

There were two men in front of me in line, directly in front of me, a very short, head-shaved guy, and in front of the very short, head-shaved guy, a normal-sized, wavy-gray-haired guy with spit-shined shoes, who I thought was probably the Bronze-Starred hero, who parked illegally, but who, at first glance, and second glance, too, obviously thought he was entitled to park where he wanted when he wanted because he was awarded a Bronze Star. Of course, I could have been wrong; and the very short, head-shaved guy was the Bronze Star recipient.

But I wasn't; and the normal-sized, wavy-gray-haired guy with spit-shined shoes got his small coffee ... tall for all those Starbucks aficionados, who might be offended by my unenlightened reference to cup size ... walked out of the building, towards the SUV with the special license plate, and his date with destiny.

I placed my coffee order; and from my vantage point at the window, I could see that the normal-sized, wavy-gray-haired guy with spit-shined shoes, who towered over the diminutive firebrand for the disabled, was not alarmed by her inquisition into his status as a member of the disabled community. He immediately swung open the SUV door and came around, brandishing a handicapped parking placard in his left hand, thrusting it in her face.

I went to the door, holding it ajar, not wanting to interfere at that point, but concerned. After all, she had a cane in her hand, which I know, from personal experience, she has used on occasion as an offensive weapon. Bronze-Starred hero or not, he carried only a handicapped parking placard in his hand.

"You don't look like you're disabled," she pointed out.

"I have a wooden leg," replied the normal-sized, wavy-gray-haired guy with spit-shined shoes and, now, a peg leg.

"Yeah, right ... you have a wooden leg," she said, her incredulity obvious.

And then, the woman in the passenger seat alighted from the SUV, apparently sensing that the normal-sized, wavy-gray-haired guy with spit-shined shoes and, now, a peg leg, was losing the battle, yelling, "I'm handicapped, I'm handicapped! Lady, what's your problem? I have a hole in my spine!"

"Wow!" Stacey exclaimed, with more than a hint of sarcasm, "He has a wooden leg, and you have a hole in your spine. What are the odds?"

Taken aback momentarily by that revelation, the woman with the hole in her spine, pointed out, "He doesn't have a wooden leg."

And Stacey replied, "Oh, really," sarcasm dripping, as she held onto the last syllable, relishing the reddening face and open-mouthed silence of the Bronze-Starred, normal-sized, wavy-gray-haired guy with spit-shined shoes and, now, without a peg leg.

And he sputtered, "I ... I ... I have an artificial part."

And Stacey guessed, "What, like a knee?"

"I have an artificial knee," he pointed out, trying to recover in this embarrassing predicament into which the woman with the hole in her spine cast him. "Want to see the scar?"

"I have two knee replacements," responded Stacey calmly, then added in, "and I have MS. If this is a competition, I win. And she didn't even get out of the car ... the one with the disability."

"Why is this any of your business anyway? Who are you? What makes you the handicap policeman of the world?" the Bronze-Starred, normal-sized, wavy-gray-haired guy with spit-shined shoes and, now, without a peg leg, but with a scar on his knee, countered, changing the subject, trying to go on the offensive in an effort to distance himself from his serious social gaffe.

Turning the tables, Stacey replied, "It certainly is my business. You, obviously, don't care about our rights. Somebody's got to do it."

"You need to get a life, lady," the Bronze-Starred, normal-sized, wavy-gray-haired guy with spit-shined shoes and, now, without a peg leg, but with a scar on his knee, pointed out in a sarcastic tone.

"You people are nuts," Stacey concluded, opening the car door and slipping into the passenger seat.

The woman with the hole in her spine said, "She's crazy. Let's go," to the Bronze-Starred, normal-sized, wavy-gray-haired guy with spit-shined shoes and, now, without a peg leg, but with a scar on his knee.

As it turned out, it was not a decisive win. And I went to get the cups of coffee from the little shelf that is too high for those in wheelchairs to comfortably get their hot drinks.

Posted by Bill at January 31, 2007 12:29 PM