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According to Hofmann: Parking spaced-out

By Mark Hofmann mhofmann@heraldstandard.Com 5 min read
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ItĢƵ unfair to say that itĢƵ impossible to find a parking space nowadays, so I’ll do some fancy word-smithing to lower the definition of impossible by a few degrees by putting the word “pretty” in front of it.

Like I said, itĢƵ “pretty” impossible to find a parking spot nowadays, and thatĢƵ because so many are reserved.

It used to be just handicapped parking, and that was fine as it helped people and wasn’t an inconvenience to park in other spots.

But then reserved spaces for expecting mothers appeared out of the blue–or out of the pink if sheĢƵ expecting a girl.

By the time we adjusted to that, other reserved parking spaces popped up and included curbside pickup, preferred VIP customers, employees, VIP employees, pharmacy pickups, people who are offended by the color magenta, embarrassed men rushing in to buy feminine hygiene products for their wife or girlfriend, employees who are offended by the color fuchsia, people named Marvin, expecting adopting mothers and fully-loaded clown cars.

I know that doesn’t seem like a lot, but you tend to notice it when you’re driving through a crowded parking lot and suddenly feel your spirits lifted when you see that prime spot sitting pretty between two vehicles and located close to the store with no other vehicles on the hunt for it.

You’re about to swing your car in when you stop short and curse because itĢƵ a space reserved for fathers carrying triplets in a chest harness.

You know if you take the spot, then you’ll actually see a father carrying triplets in a chest harness, and you’ll be crushed with guilt when he gives you the Look of Shame.

You instead end up parking on the other side of the lot where all of societyĢƵ rejects congregate, and you constantly wonder if you’re going to return to see your vehicle on blocks and how bad your chaffing is going to be from your trek to and from the store.

The other problem is trying to explain to someone how you fit the requirements of the space to which the space is reserved?

If you don’t have a handicapped placard, you can always explain that you are whatĢƵ considered “semi-unhandicapped” until you pass the seafood aisle in the grocery store and your high anxiety kicks in from an inking incident involving a rabid squid in the Atlantic Ocean when you were a toddler on vacation with your family at the Outer Banks in 1987 when there was a full moon one night. You see, itĢƵ the details that make the story more believable.

When I used to get grief over parking in the spot for expectant mothers, I used to say that I just so happened to be expecting a mother, as my wife is a mother and my mother is certainly a mother and is even a grandmother, which multiplies the motherhood. Then, when I started to lose that verbal jousting match, I just placed my hands on my already swollen stomach and said, “Yes. And what are you implying?”

But now itĢƵ difficult to keep the stories straight.

As an example, I once parked right in front of my local drug store, and I didn’t even bother to read where I parked because I was in a hurry to rush into the store, use the restroom while doing collateral damage to it in the process, then browse along the cold-and-flu section before nonchalantly leaving the business before the scene of the crime would be discovered.

Of course, as soon as I got out of my car and started restroom-hobbling toward the store, some weekend-parking-space warrior shouted at me, “Hey! You can’t park there, dude!”

“Oh, thatĢƵ okay,” I said. “I’m totally a…um…survivor of a bleeding ulcer? I just left my card at home. I must have left it in my office desk drawer, wedged between my electric bill from two months ago with a late-fee charge of $25 and the updated version of my fan letter to Wilford Brimley where I mention–“

“Quit bogging down your lie with details! You parked on the sidewalk!”

“Yeah, thatĢƵ right! I’ve been afflicted with sidewalking for years!” I said as I side-walked into the drug store.

Now, before this reserved-parking-space craziness gets more out of hand, I think if we stop trying to join groups to be handed rewards of designated spaces and if we start acting like individuals and fight tire and bumper to earn the best parking space we can get like nature intended, then I’m sure we’ll survive the trials and tribulations of this year of our Lord 2020.

Well…I’m “pretty” sure.

According to Hofmann is written by staff reporter Mark Hofmann of Rostraver Township. He co-hosts the “Locally Yours” radio show on WMBS 590 AM every Friday. His book, “Stupid Brain,” is available on Amazon.com.

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