My Eyes Weren’t Playing Tricks—That Is Not a Parking Space

After dialysis, I made the 30-minute drive to Retina Consultants of South Carolina in Ladson for my eye appointment.

Apparently, the parking lot decided to test my vision before the doctor could.

I saw a vehicle parked in a spot that was not actually a parking space, squeezed unbelievably close to the cars beside it. I am not sure the pictures fully capture just how little room was left between the vehicles.

Maybe this was part of my eye exam:

“Niel, can you identify the illegally parked vehicle?”

Yes. Yes, I can.

The scene reminded me of something that happened many years ago after a business trip. At the time, I was neither physically nor emotionally sober.

I returned to the long-term parking lot at O’Hare, exited the train, and walked down the stairs. My car was parked nearby, which should have been a pleasant surprise after traveling.

Instead, someone had parked beside me in a space that did not exist. Their car was so close to mine that I could not open the driver’s door.

I had to climb into my car through the passenger side—all 350 pounds of me, at least—and maneuver myself across the center console into the driver’s seat.

But before I did that, I gave the illegal parker a reason to get a new paint job.

That was not my proudest moment.

Let me be clear: damaging someone’s vehicle was wrong. Their terrible parking did not justify my response. That story is not advice or something I am celebrating. It is simply an honest example of who I was at the time and how poorly I handled anger and frustration.

Today, I respond differently.

I take a picture. I write a blog post. I point out the problem without creating a bigger one—and without adding an appointment at the body shop to someone’s calendar.

Still, parking in a space that does not exist and leaving barely enough room for other drivers to enter their vehicles is selfish. You do not know whether the person beside you has limited mobility, uses a wheelchair or prosthetic, or physically cannot climb through the passenger side.

And no one—especially after dialysis and on the way to a retina appointment—should have to perform parking-lot gymnastics because you decided the painted lines were merely suggestions.

My eyes may be recovering, but even I could see that was not a parking space.

Be better, people. Be better.

A Parking Job So Bad It Needed Emergency Care

I was visiting my mother at Roper St. Francis in Mount Pleasant when I left for a few hours to attend a recovery meeting.

On my way out, I saw this car parked outside the Emergency Department.

Or at least I think it was parked. It appeared to have simply stopped wherever it lost interest in moving.

Now, because this was outside the Emergency Department, I kind of understand. Emergencies are emergencies. Sometimes you pull up, get someone inside, and worry about the car afterward.

I have my own story.

When my ex-wife was about to give birth to our son—our second child—she waited until nearly the last possible moment to announce that it was time to go to the hospital.

On the way there, I may have run a few red lights. I did honk as I approached them to warn people that a panicked father-to-be was coming through.

When we reached the Emergency Department, I jumped out, ran inside, and grabbed a wheelchair. My ex-wife was still sitting in the car. I got her into the wheelchair and rushed her inside.

Meanwhile, the car was still running, the keys were still in it, and the doors were wide open.

Was that proper parking etiquette?

Absolutely not.

But a baby was arriving, and my priorities were clear: mother, baby, and then the unattended getaway car sitting outside.

So yes, I can understand a bad parking job at an emergency room—at least temporarily.

But the car I saw at Roper St. Francis was on another level. It was sitting crooked across the blue-striped access aisle next to an accessible parking space, looking less like someone had parked it and more like it had been abandoned mid-thought.

Those striped areas are not bonus parking spaces. They provide the room people need to deploy wheelchair ramps, use mobility equipment, and safely enter or exit their vehicles.

When I returned from my recovery meeting, the car was gone.

Hopefully, whatever brought the driver to the Emergency Department turned out okay.

Or perhaps the car had simply been moved to another part of the parking lot—where it was parked just as horribly.

Either way, emergencies may explain a rushed arrival. They do not turn an access aisle into a parking space indefinitely.

Be safe. Be considerate. And once the emergency is under control, please go back and park the car between two actual lines.

Some People Just Don’t Give a F’!!! Twice in One Day—What Is Going On?

Is it a full moon? Did someone taint the water? Is the zombie apocalypse about to begin?

I went to see Spider— the video vlog review is coming later—and caught the first sign of civilization’s collapse in the parking lot.

I’m parked on the left, neatly between the lines. On the right is a Cadillac CT4 doing…well, you can see for yourself.

Later, I went to my local Harris Teeter to buy 85 Powerball tickets for the fraternity Powerball pool—more on that adventure later—and witnessed something even more baffling.

I drove by twice because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

An older gentleman had parked nowhere near the lines and left the hatch wide open. Look closely: nobody is inside the car. Nobody is standing nearby. Nothing. Eventually, I watched him make his way back to the vehicle on one of those electric shopping carts.

At that point, I knew the universe was trying to tell me something.

I’m buying MREs and driving to the middle of nowhere—right after I vlog about Superman, write about Nextdoor, and check the fraternity pool and my solo Powerball tickets.

Priorities, people. Priorities.

Parking Between the Lines: A Radical Concept?

I headed to the Regal Palmetto Grande to catch a movie and, before I even made it to the theater, I got today's "parking performance review."

As I was looking for a spot, I came across this previous-generation Toyota RAV4. It wasn't just a little crooked. It was parked right across the access aisle next to a handicap space.

Now, because I'm a right above-knee amputee with a prosthetic leg and I rely on handicap parking when I need it, I pay attention to these things. Before I get out of my own vehicle, I almost always take a second look to make sure I'm centered between the lines. It takes maybe five extra seconds.

Those painted blue and striped areas aren't decoration. They're there so people using wheelchairs, walkers, prosthetics, or other mobility devices have the room they need to safely get in and out of their vehicles.

Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I still think staying between the lines is a pretty good idea.

What's next? Maybe I'll start stopping at red lights too.

Sometimes the smallest acts of courtesy make the biggest difference for someone else.

The Great Handicap Parking Mystery of Mount Pleasant

Today I headed over to Town Square in Mount Pleasant to catch Pressure, the new D-Day movie.

(By the way, if you're curious what I thought about it, check out my movie review at https://NielFlamm.com/videos/moviereview.)

As a right above-the-knee amputee, I usually look for an accessible parking space. It's closer to the theater, the walk is easier, and getting in and out with a prosthetic leg is a whole lot less like an obstacle course.

Then I spotted it.

The same accessible parking space.

The same questionable parking job.

The same blue-haired driver.

At this point, I'm convinced this is either a social experiment or an attempt to see how many spaces one compact sedan can occupy at once.

Folks, this wasn't a monster truck. It wasn't an oversized SUV towing a boat. It wasn't a bus.

It was a mid-size sedan.

A vehicle specifically designed to fit between two painted lines.

Yet somehow it was parked like it had ricocheted off three shopping carts before coming to rest.

I stood there wondering if I should leave a helpful note:

"The lines aren't decorations."

Maybe the parking lot needs bowling bumpers.

Maybe flashing runway lights.

Maybe one of those airport workers with orange glow sticks directing traffic.

To the mystery blue-haired parker: I have faith in you. The engineers who designed your car have faith in you. The people who painted the parking lines have faith in you.

One day, you'll center that car.

Until then... I'll keep bringing my sense of humor.

And don't forget to check out my review of Pressure over at https://NielFlamm.com/videos/moviereview.