I don't know what it is about me and parking spots.
I mean, I've always seen myself as trying to be compassionate toward others but there's something about that first moment when I pull into the parking lot at Giant Eagle that depresses me because the closest parking spot is at least two football fields from the entrance.
That's when my mind starts focusing on those precious few roomy handicapped spots. I know I'm not entitled to use them but for some reason I covet them.
That sky blue paint with white and yellow trim on pavement. Beautiful. So spacious. It beckons. Park on me, baby.
I think it's because they represent what all men crave. The chance to get in, get what I need, and get out.
For women, shopping is more about the experience. For men it's about obtaining the objective quickly and efficiently and moving on to the next strategic challenge.
Which brings me to the real reason for this column.
I find myself occasionally pausing to see if the person with a handicapped sticker is actually handicapped.
It's not right for able-bodied relatives to park in those awesome extended van accommodating spots just because they're driving grandma's car or perhaps even worse driving their own car borrowing grandma's blue-and-white placard.
Here's the one that really bugs me. I occasionally observe that the placard user is morbidly obese.
Perhaps they've obtained the blue-and-white placard because they have a hard time breathing or they're diabetic. But aren't those just symptoms caused by their obesity?
Let me be more blunt.
I harbor an irrational resentment against people who seem to feel that they're entitled to privileged close up parking because they're fat.
Aren't these the very people who need the exercise gained from a longer walk to the Twinkie shelves?
I've been trying to trim down lately so my wife has me purposely choosing long-distance parking.
But as I'm passing by those gorgeously emblazoned golden trimmed blue rectangles marked with the international symbol of a wheelchair, something snaps when the rotund roll out of their seats and jiggle their way into the store.
Let me put this a different way. Wouldn't the blimps be less blimpie if they weren't entitled to special parking extra close to Blimpie's?
I wish God's blessings and good health to all people, especially those whose infirmity cries out for the compassion of special parking to shorten that difficult walk into the store of their choice.
However, there is something inherently wrong with the idea that people can eat their way into this special privilege.
I suppose these thoughts are unreasonable but for those of us who suffer from parking spot envy, it eats away at us.
So listen up, fatties. If your blubber is the result of your own appetites, discard the blue card and join my new long-distance parking fitness program.
You can save me from having to give you a dirty look. And you'll feel better about yourself as well.
Have a nice day.