Another View : . . . But Looks Can Be Deceiving

I circled the parking lot, scanning for a space near the grocery store’s entrance.

“Mom, just park in the handicapped zone,” my daughter urged. “That’s what your sticker’s for.”

My bright red placard for the disabled sits right on the dashboard of my Camaro. Anyone can see it, but most never look beyond the hot car or the youngish driver.

Parking in the blue zone, I took a moment to sort my coupons. An older man with gray hair walked by, going to the car next to mine. “Hey!” he snarled suddenly, making me jump. “Don’t you know you can’t park here without a permit? It’s against the law!”

Humiliated and angry, I swallowed unnecessary curse words. “My permit is right there; I’m entitled to park in this space, so would you leave me alone, please?”

“What do you mean, you have a permit? You have to be handicapped to get one of those.” His face fairly danced with wicked amusement at having apparently caught me in a scam.

Getting into his car, the man shook his head and laughed. He was gone, but his abusive words lingered.

People of all ages feel free to stop me in front of grocery stores, discount stores, fancy malls and doctor’s offices. They yell, threaten, even shove their heads inside my car, right past my kids’ terrified faces.

Five years ago, I fell down a flight of stairs while recuperating from abdominal surgery. I herniated two disks and crushed the cone-shaped bone at the base of the spine. Surgeries to correct the injury resulted in permanently damaged spinal nerves that cause pain to radiate through my back and right leg. I also have lupus, a disease of the immune system that causes fatigue, flu-like symptoms and pain in the joints, muscles and connective tissues.

Now, I don’t say all this because I’m in need of sympathy. I just want to do errands without getting yelled at for being who I really am: a young woman who likes driving a fast, silver sports car because it’s the only time I ever get to do anything fast.