This happened last Tuesday outside the pharmacy I visit every month. Since my back surgery, I’ve had to rely on a disabled placard to get around. I don’t love needing it, but walking long distances just isn’t possible for me right now.
When I arrived, both disabled parking spots were occupied. One car clearly had the right tags. The other—an expensive-looking gray SUV—had no placard, no disabled plates, nothing. Just parked there like it belonged.
I circled the lot a few times, hoping someone was just making a quick stop. But after ten minutes, nothing had changed.
I went inside, moving slowly and trying to manage the pain. I asked the cashier if they knew who owned the SUV. They didn’t, but mentioned someone had just gone into the smoothie shop next door. So I walked over there.
Inside, a woman in workout clothes was laughing with the barista. I politely asked if the SUV in the disabled spot was hers. She gave me a once-over like I was beneath her and replied, “Wow, some people are so entitled.”
I was shocked. I pointed to my placard and explained, “That spot is legally reserved. This isn’t about entitlement—it’s about necessity.”
She just shrugged, took a sip of her smoothie, and said, “It’s only five minutes. Chill out.”
I walked away before I said something I’d regret. But when I returned to my car, there was a note tucked under my windshield.
I didn’t open it right away. The rest of the week passed quietly, but that moment stuck with me. I kept thinking about it—not just how it made me feel, but how someone more fragile, someone who really depended on that spot even more than I do, might have been affected. The unopened note sat on my kitchen counter, staring at me.
By Friday, curiosity got the better of me. I finally opened it. The note read:
“You think rules make you better than everyone else? Maybe you should focus less on judging others and more on minding your own business.”
I was stunned. This wasn’t an apology. It was an attack. And it hurt—not because I believed it, but because of how much it missed the point.
Rules like disabled parking exist for a reason. They’re not about superiority. They’re about equity—making sure people who need access can actually get it, without having to defend themselves for it.
Instead of stewing in that anger, I picked up the phone and called my friend Darnell. He runs a local accessibility awareness group and had been wanting to start a campaign about proper use of disabled parking. After this experience, I knew it was time to help him make it happen.