Intending to do some shopping at the Northgate mall one day, I drove through the parking lot to the entrance near the store I was going to, and noted that both of the handicapped parking places were occupied. And both cars had DP plates.

Fair enough. I knew of another pair just a short distance away, not too far for me to walk on my crutches. If one of them was, indeed, unoccupied.

BUT—!!!

To the side of each of these handicapped parking places was an area marked with diagonal white stripes (like, I think, what the British would call a "zebra crossing"). Between the two cars with DP plates, someone had managed to wedge a car without DP plates—on the striped area.

Now, that striped space (which means "No Parking") was there so that someone with a wheelchair could wrestle the chair out of their car, slide over onto it, and go their way. Or where a van, so equipped, would have room to use a wheelchair lift.

As I was sitting there, marveling at this phenomenon, the owner of the rogue automobile arrived.

"Ma'am," I called, "these spaces are marked 'handicapped parking.'"

"Well!" she responded indignantly. "This one isn't!"

I called her attention to the white stripes under her car and told her what they were there for. And also informing her of what diagonal white stripes like that mean anywhere she encounters them:   No Parking.

I saw her shrink visibly. But she sure as hell wasn't going to admit that she was in the wrong. She didn't thank me (odd, that!), but I could tell she was aware that she was lucky her informant was me and not a policeman or parking checker.

The three cars were so close together that she had quite a struggle getting her door open so she could get into her car. You'd think she would have noticed the tightness of the space when she first got there.

Don Firth