My New Role

I don't know if you know this, but there's this thing you can do where you pretend to be something you're not. Now I know a lot of people do this already, such as the inadequate middle-aged man in the red sports car pretending to be adequate, but this is more along the lines of public performance. You might even call it theater of the real, where you are the actor, taking on a role.

The first time I did this, I decided to be a member of the parking lot police. I don't know if there is such a thing, but there should be. So, I went to the nearest shopping center and parked in such a way that I had a good view of the handicapped spaces. Then, when someone parked in one, I would approach them and first check to make sure they had the proper placard. There are handicapped people who, for some reason, leave it at home. Maybe they use it at the kitchen table to get the good spot, closest to the bathroom.

Anyway, after noticing the appropriate placard, I then tap on the window and ask for their infirmity. They usually appear quite puzzled at this, but most are generally forthcoming, saying they've had hip replacement surgery or have a back injury which impairs them. Sometimes, if the person is not cooperative, I may ask for a demonstration. I suggest the best manner for this is a brief square dance. They usually refuse, which is their right, but if they appear on the young and sprightly side, I may insist. I usually defer to older people because, let's face it, they get cranky and may hit me. You may think the young and sprightly crowd may also assault an officer of the parking lot police, but they usually just run. And I let them, knowing that, someday, they must return.

One woman said her infirmity was migraine headaches, and that driving around trying to find a good parking space usually triggered them. This was a plausible explanation, but one not truly worthy of a handicapped spot. Another man tried to convince me he had epilepsy, which condoned his use of a parking space without the proper placard. I nearly bought the excuse, until I realized that if his condition was so pronounced that he required a special parking space, that he really shouldn't be driving. So, I called him a cab and had his car towed.

There are times when the people would confront me, and say there is no such thing as the parking lot police. And this, of course, is where the acting talent comes in. One lady, in particular, pointed out my lack of uniform. I explained that if I was in uniform, she wouldn't have parked there, and she countered that my lack of proper employment attire was tantamount to entrapment since the lack of police presence in any situation allows implicitly for the breaking of the rules, if one so desires. I countered that the tree which falls in the woods has still fallen in the woods, and the argument as to whether it made a sound is a deflection of the real issue, especially for the poor tree. This seemed to placate her, and she moved her vehicle.

I have also performed these duties in my "off" hours, such as going out to dinner with my wife and spying a citizen using the handicapped space when it might not have been entirely appropriate. The last time, at Sizzler, a man in his early 50's got out of his sedan and I noticed he had a slight limp. We followed him into the restaurant, and while waiting in line, I introduced myself (well, my stage name) and said I was an off-duty member of the parking lot police. I told him he should be more considerate to people who had "real" infirmities and maybe he shouldn't be such a baby. Walk it off, I told him. He did not appreciate this, and began loudly telling me that he had several vertebrae that were fused together in his back, and that he was lucky to be walking at all. I agreed, but added that parking another twenty feet away wouldn't kill him.

It was at this point my wife left, and, unfortunately, it was one of the times she brought her keys with her. I have since stopped playing parking lot policeman, though I do practice my knowing and, might I say, dirty looks at violators. This is a compromise with my wife, who tolerates this, but suggests that when I make those faces, I appear constipated. I may decide on a new role for the future, and any suggestions would be appreciated.