Last week, I was late for a lunch meeting at a popular restaurant in Carson City. The parking lot was jammed except for one disabled parking space right at the front door. The lot was slick with ice. The Sierra wind whipped huge snowflakes all about.
I previously earned a disabled parking placard, which came in handy in the early months following my back surgeries. Now, with the help of a cane on slippery ground, I’m quite mobile. Yet, I remembered the blue placard I had stuck in my glove compartment months ago. I stuck it on the front windshield and pulled into the desired parking spot.
Leaving an hour later, I walked the few steps to my vehicle. The parking lot was still packed and winter conditions were still acting up.
In my rearview mirror, I spotted a frail, elderly couple moving slowly along toward the front door. The man had a walker with snow-capped wheels. His wife was holding tightly to his arm. They navigated between rows of cars, heading cautiously toward the door.
I felt like a jerk. I needed that disabled parking spot like a hole in the head. Upon arriving home, I took the blue placard and placed it in my bottom drawer. I hope it stays there for a long time.