Today, I pulled into a parking lot to pick Sarah Kate up from one of her extracurricular activities. Because of the problems she’s had this week with her knee, she was using her wheelchair. When I pulled in, I saw that the one and only disability parking space, next to the ramp, was partially blocked by a large SUV in the adjacent space. The driver was waiting inside. I pulled up behind the disability space and waited.
A few minutes later, a young girl appeared – one of the other kids in this extracurricular activity – and climbed into the SUV. The SUV was able to (very carefully) back out past me. As she went by, I waved my disability hangtag in her direction.
It was a huge mistake.
I had no plans to speak to the driver. The space she had parked in was a regular space, not a disability one, so technically what she did wasn’t illegal. But it was 4:00, I had run nine miles earlier in the day and had consumed only a Clif bar and a single cup of hot tea since breakfast. Suffice it to say: I probably should have eaten lunch.
Sometimes (and not only when my blood sugar is perilously low), I get tired of how oblivious people can be. Whether or not that SUV was parked illegally wasn’t the point – the point was that I couldn’t park there. The same feelings bubbled to the surface two years ago at a gas station somewhere along I-65, shortly after Sarah Kate’s surgery when she was still in the wheelchair full-time. Technically, the building had a disabled space with a ramp near a door, but the space AND the door were around the side of the building, almost hidden, reminiscent of the “Colored” entrances of the segregation era. Since that day, I don’t take a chance on a small interstate gas station unless it’s an emergency – it’s Flying J or the equivalent for me all the way.
But this post isn’t about disability parking.
The driver stopped next to me, rolled down her daughter’s window, and pointed out to me that the space she had parked in wasn’t a disability space. She wasn’t ugly about it. In fact, she seemed a wee bit sheepish and I’m sure she just wanted to make sure I knew she hadn’t done A Bad Thing. I would like to say that I kindly suggested that she shouldn’t park in a way that partially blocks a disability space, but that would be dishonest. I did say that, but my tone of voice and my facial expression weren’t kind.
The conversation, if you could call it that, was short, and I threw my car into drive and pulled forward into the space. She drove away. I fumed for a few minutes, wondered if I would ever be able to show my face at this particular extracurricular activity again, considered that it was not healthy for me to get so worked up about a parking space, then drove straight to the nearest chicken finger place.
I wondered why it upset me so much.
I don’t know the lady, but she seemed pleasant enough. At first I thought it was because I perceived her as oblivious, but on further examination, that wasn’t it. I know I go through life oblivious to a lot of things, and I’ve got years of experience dealing with people who are oblivious. It was annoying, but not unusual. It had to be something else, and it didn’t take me long to come up with the real reason I was upset.
She didn’t say she was sorry.
If, instead of clarifying to me that she was parked legally, she had said, “Was I blocking the blue space? I didn’t realize it. I’m so sorry!” I’d have smiled, told her there was no harm done, and gone about my day. But she didn’t. She was focused more on Setting the Record Straight or even, possibly, Making Sure She Didn’t Look Bad.
How often do we do the same thing?
Why is it so hard for us to admit a mistake? A thousand wrongs can be righted, quickly and easily, with a simple “mea culpa” but for some reason it’s incredibly difficult to do. When we’re faced with confrontation, we first worry about how we look to others or seize on a way to justify our actions. We seem to believe that admitting our mistakes makes us weak, and we hold onto our “rightness” like a found treasure.
I’m sure I’ll see this lady again sometime, and I hope when I do I’ll have the courage to give her a friendly smile, rather than duck my head and hope she doesn’t see me.
I have nothing new to say. I just wanted to say that I love this article. One of my big soap boxes is personal accountability. When my kids do something and they accept responsibility for it, I’m far more gracious and lenient in my response because, to me, it’s So important to just take responsibility for what we do – to have an awareness and try to make a better decision next time.
Going the other way, it amazes me sometimes how the people who should be apologizing will turn a situation around and try to suggest they’re the ones who deserve apologies.
I totally totally agree with you: A little “I’m sorry”, a little accepting responsibility, goes a long way.
I love you, Andi Sligh!
I’m somewhat confused. Why was she blocking the disability space? If she was partially in that space (and partially in the legal space) that IS illegal. She should have apologized for mistakenly parking illegally. If she was parked fully legally and it still blocked the disability space, it would seem there is a problem with the way the parking is set up, which you should definitely complain about.
First off, the building is old and all of the spaces are fairly narrow. The single disability space is on the far right end and a ramp up to the sidewalk is immediately to the right of the space. The car to her left was too far over in its space, and since her vehicle was extra-large, when she parked her right side was across the line a little. Since there wasn’t much room to spare, I didn’t have enough room to pull in (unless I wanted to prevent both her passenger side and my driver side doors from being able to open).
The driver could have had difficulty parking due to dyspraxia, chronic illness brain fog, or simply having a bad day. I just wanted to bring this up because not everyone wants to intentionally be an impedance to others.
Great thoughts. I can relate to your response- for better or worse 🙂