I had dinner with friends on a rainy night at a restaurant downtown last week. I had been bragging to them about owning my official Handicapped Parking Permit. It wasn’t easy getting it. Among its many benefits, It’s a trophy for winning the final argument with my doctor.
I said, “I’m dying for christsakes! You give me less than two years to live, and for that I can’t get a parking permit? Which one is the joke, Doctor?” Pretty compelling.
With my handicapped permit, I get the best parking spaces right near the entrance of where I’m going. When I can’t find a reserved space, I can park anywhere for as long as I want, after I hang my badge from the rear-view mirror. I don’t even need to read a sign. Continue reading