Parking

I have a temporary disabled parking permit. As soon as she heard about my injury, my friend Jen recommended I get one. One of her son's broke his leg, and the parking permit was a godsend.

I have mixed feelings about using the permit.  At the YMCA the other day, there were regular spots open next to the disabled parking spot, so I used those.  I didn't want to take a spot from an octogenarian in a wheelchair. Yesterday, I skipped the disabled spot and found another spot. The downside was there was about ten inches between my car and the one my my left, making it hard to get out, especially while hauling a backpack and crutches.  As I left, a woman waited while I go back in my car.

"Are you leaving?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.  She wanted my parking spot. Here I was hogging a regular spot when I could have used the disabled one.

I told Evan my physical therapist about my parking permit and the moral questions it posed for me.

"Use the spots," he said. "You deserve it."

The expert spoke, and I will obey.  Even though the whole clinic is driving me to work hard, they are cutting me some slack when is comes to getting a good parking space.  He even encouraged me to use the wheelchair services at the airport.