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.

Left Eye Airlines Is Gaining Altitude

Another day, another update from the increasingly complicated flight deck known as my left eye.

And today, I actually have some good news:

I can see a little better.

Not 20/20; throw away the glasses; read the bottom line of the eye chart better.

But better.

Since Friday, I’ve been taking three different eye drops, four times a day. At this point, administering eye drops has basically become a part-time job.

Morning: drops.
Later: drops.
Afternoon: drops.
Evening: you guessed it... more drops.

But something appears to be happening.

The strange horizon-indicator view I've been describing is changing again. When I look straight ahead, there is still a visible bubble at the very bottom of my field of vision.

So apparently, the complimentary vinaigrette service aboard Left Eye Airlines is finally running low. 🥗

The bubble hasn't completely disappeared, but I'm able to see a bit better through the left eye than I could before.

I'll take it.

Unfortunately, while my eye may be improving, the rest of my body has apparently filed several complaints about the treatment plan.

The antibiotics are absolutely wrecking my stomach.

I don't tolerate antibiotics particularly well to begin with, and my stomach has made its position on the matter extremely clear:

NO THANK YOU.

Then we have the steroids.

Those aren't upsetting my stomach.

They're doing something much more dangerous.

They're making me hungry.

Not regular hungry.

Steroid hungry.

The kind of hungry where you eat something and your stomach immediately asks:

"That was the appetizer, right?"

So the current recovery scoreboard looks something like this:

Left eye: improving. 👁️
Bubble: still hanging around at the bottom. 🫧
Stomach: protesting the antibiotics.
Appetite: apparently preparing for hibernation.
Arm: still healing from my recent disagreement with my prosthetic, gravity and the carpet.

The photos continue to make everything look considerably more dramatic than it feels, especially the arm. But compared with where things were just a few days ago, I'll happily take incremental progress.

And perhaps most importantly, Captain Niel seems to be getting a little more visibility from the cockpit.

We're not at cruising altitude yet.

The seatbelt sign is definitely still illuminated.

But for the first time in a few days, I think we may actually be able to see the runway.

And the vinaigrette?

Almost off the menu. ✈️👁️🥗🫧

Day 80: Nextdoor Wants to Talk About Reputation? Seriously?

Today is Day 80.

And Nextdoor managed to stop me in my tracks with the very first sentence of a LinkedIn post:

“A reputation you earn is worth more than one you can buy.”

They have to be kidding.

Of all the subjects Nextdoor could lecture businesses about, they chose:

Reputation.

This accompanies a new announcement distributed through Business Wire:

Nextdoor Deepens Its Commitment to Local Business Discovery and Recommendations

The release describes Nextdoor as “the essential neighborhood network” and announces changes intended to make the platform a destination for trusted local-business recommendations. It says nearly 30% of Nextdoor content already involves local business recommendations and reports nearly 75 million Faves across almost 6.6 million businesses. Business Wire

Those are impressive talking points.

But let's talk about reputation versus reality.

“The Essential Neighborhood Network”?

Nextdoor can call itself that.

But reputations aren't created by press releases.

And Nextdoor has spent years dealing with a very different nickname:

The “Karen” of social media.

That reputation didn't appear out of nowhere. Nextdoor's so-called “Karen problem” has been publicly discussed for years, including criticism involving neighbors policing one another and reporting behavior they don't like. Wikipedia

Spend enough time on the platform, and the irony becomes hard to miss.

Neighbors arguing about noise.

Lawns.

Politics.

Parking.

Dogs.

e-Bikes.

Someone's trash cans.

Someone else's kids.

Someone looked suspicious.

Someone's music is too loud.

Someone's grass is apparently threatening civilization.

Welcome to the essential neighborhood network.

Nextdoor says a reputation should be earned.

Okay.

Then Nextdoor's reputation has to be judged by what its platform actually produces—not merely by what Communications writes about it.

Then There Are the Businesses

Here's where today's announcement gets particularly interesting.

The release celebrates businesses earning recommendations organically and says Nextdoor is helping businesses build reputations that “can't be bought.”

Then, just a few paragraphs later, we get:

Opportunity Alerts.

That's a paid product that routes requests from verified neighbors directly to local service providers. The release also says a forthcoming business feed will allow businesses to comment and engage with neighbors. Business Wire

Wait.

We're celebrating reputations that can't be bought...

while introducing paid access to opportunities?

I'm not saying businesses shouldn't pay for advertising or leads. Nextdoor needs revenue. I'm a shareholder—I want it to make money.

But let's not pretend there isn't a tension worth discussing.

If a neighbor says:

“Can anyone recommend a plumber?”

and as businesses are increasingly encouraged to pursue paid products to reach those opportunities, where does authentic neighborhood conversation end and lead generation begin?

That's the conversation I'd like Nextdoor to have.

Users. Businesses. Investors.

That's what I find so fascinating about the current Nextdoor strategy.

I see friction across all three groups.

Users can end up fighting with other users over everything from lawns to e-Bikes.

Businesses are being introduced to new monetized tools for reaching neighbors actively seeking services.

And then there are investors like me.

Nextdoor has been around for roughly 15 years, and shareholders are still waiting for the enormous upside we've been promised.

Meanwhile, Q2 2026 still produced a $2 million GAAP net loss, although that's substantially better than the $15 million loss a year earlier, and adjusted EBITDA was positive $10 million. Business Wire

I've already made my position clear:

I have lost confidence in Nirav Tolia's leadership and believe Nextdoor needs a change at the top.

The Press Release Has a Messaging Problem

Read the announcement carefully.

It says:

Real people, not algorithms, decide who's trustworthy.

Then the very same announcement touts AI-powered Search and machine-learning ranking systems that improve what neighbors see. Business Wire

It says reputations can't be bought.

Then promotes a paid product for routing neighbor requests to service providers.

It emphasizes organic word of mouth.

Then discusses tools businesses can use to manage campaigns.

None of those products is inherently bad.

The problem is the gap between the beautifully crafted language and the much messier reality of operating and monetizing the platform.

And after 80 days of examining Nextdoor, that's becoming a recurring theme.

About That Reputation...

Nextdoor's own CEO, Nirav Tolia, says in the release:

“Local businesses have always grown through word of mouth.” Business Wire

I agree.

And word of mouth works for public companies too.

Customers talk.

Businesses talk.

Employees talk.

Investors talk.

Reputation isn't what a company calls itself in a Business Wire headline.

It's what people say about the company when the Communications department isn't writing the sentence.

So when Nextdoor tells businesses:

“A reputation you earn is worth more than one you can buy.”

I actually agree completely.

Which leads to my Day 80 question:

Nextdoor, what reputation have you earned?

Because that's a much more interesting question than the one the press release answers.

Day 80.

Still waiting for the two detailed Insights reports.

Still documenting the contradictions.

Still a shareholder.

And still wondering whether Nextdoor reads its own messaging before telling everyone else about reputation.

Read the full continuing Nextdoor case study at NielFlamm.com/blog and subscribe at NielFlamm.com to follow what happens next.

Handicap Plates Don’t Mean “Park Wherever You Want”

I stopped at Harris Teeter to grab two items.

Literally, two items.

As I left the store and made my way toward my car—parked in an actual accessible parking space—I noticed a car sitting directly outside the entrance.

I looked inside.

No driver. No passenger. No one.

As I pulled away, I noticed the car had handicap license plates. As someone who relies on accessible parking, I understand why those spaces—and the shorter distance they provide—matter.

But handicap plates are not an all-access parking pass. They do not mean you can skip the designated spaces and create your own personal parking spot directly in front of the store.

I might—and this is a very soft might—understand the decision if every accessible parking space had been occupied.

They weren’t.

And before anyone reaches for the classic excuse, “I’m just running in, and I’ll be right out,” let’s review the timeline.

I had enough time to walk to my car, load my two items, get inside, buckle my seat belt, back out, take a picture, and drive away.

That took at least two minutes.

The driver still had not returned.

This is not about questioning whether someone has a disability. The handicap plates already answer that question. It is about recognizing that having those plates does not excuse blocking an entrance, a fire lane, or an area intended to remain clear.

Accessible parking exists to make life a little easier for people who need it. Use the designated space. If one is available, there is no excuse for parking directly in front of the store simply because it is more convenient.

Be better, people. Be better.

Mutiny: If the Jason Statham Formula Works, Why Change It?

Jason Statham is bald.

I'm bald.

He has a five o'clock shadow. I'm apparently working on one.

Basically, we're twins—except he was born in Derbyshire, England, and I was born in Flushing, New York. Close enough.

In Mutiny, Statham once again proves there is absolutely nothing wrong with sticking to a successful formula: bad guys do bad things, Statham wants revenge, asses get kicked, and somehow he's still incredibly likable through all of it.

Critics? Not so impressed.

Regular moviegoers? MUCH happier.

Considering some critics also liked Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma, I'm comfortable siding with the regular people on this one.

🎬 Is Mutiny worth watching? Check out my full movie review at NielFlamm.com/videos/moviereviews