A little early this week as I'm heading to the lake.
It may be because I just ate some delicious curry, but I'm really starting to believe in karma.
Like my neighbor who does bad in the form of blasting their stereo really loud have been punished with really bad taste in music.
Another example, I used to think that it was unfair that handicapped people got to park closest to the building. I mean it's not like most of them had to even walk there. They'd just roll their way up there without a care in the world.
But then I realized that they may have the closest parking spots, but their stalls are furthest from the men's room door. So it kind of evens out that way.
While I've never been jealous of their high seated toilets and their so wide-it-echoes stalls, but I'll admit, theres been times I've looked at their parking spots and the looked at the door and realized they were only 34 inches apart, and I got a little jealous.
This envy went away one day when I realized that in order to use a handicapped parking spot the person has to literally park on an image of another handicapped person. I don't know if I could bring myself to do that.
That poor guy is already in a wheel chair, he's obviously got enough problems without me parking my car on his torso.
Maybe that's how he ended up in that chair to begin with.
A fear of inflicting additional pain on painted paraplegics aside, I still have high levels of guilt that prevent me from ever taking a reserved spot no matter how quick my trip to the sporting goods store will be.
I won't even park in the spots next to the handicapped spots unless just I stubbed my toe really bad.
Unfortunately, other people aren't so lawful good when it comes to signs spray painted on the asphalt.
Just the other day I saw someone park in a handicapped spot without a tag or license plate. I watched him get out of car and walk in with ease. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt that he really did have some sort of physical problem that warranted his use of that coveted spot, but then he jump kicked an old lady in the head.
I'm pretty sure he was just a douchebag.
And just so we're clear, I asked my doctor, being a douchebag doesn't count as being handicapped.
Unless you're golfing, then I think it's a two stroke handicap.
Despite the fact that it's often abused by the morally challenged, I kind of like the idea of parking segregation. I think we should color code the whole lot and then make people park accordingly.
The blue spots for handicapped people would stay the same as the closest.
All lots would have the red spots that you see for senior citizens and expectant mothers.
Next would be yellow spots for anyone with small children (in the case of grocery stores and movie theaters however, these spots would be located over a mile away to encourage people to leave those brats at home).
The system would continue from there through the rest of society: doctors and firemen, librarians, dog owners, people who like Jazz music, Civil War reenactors, Congressmen, cat owners, golfers and so on until finally there would be a peach colored spot in the middle of landfill in Illinois reserved for that weird guy who invited me to get in the hot tub with him when I'm pretty sure he was naked.
Naked weirdos can walk for all I care.
That's karma for you.
Steve Shinney is an (usually) able bodied young man who is perfectly content to park in the orange and blue striped parking spots right in between math teachers and anyone who switch hits is softball.