Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Of bubbas and pain
I wheeled my cart back to my car and watched a three- or four-year-old Mustang pull into a handicapped space. The placard went up, and then two apparently able-bodied people got out and walked without effort to the grocery store. No chair, no walker, no cane. No limp.
When we lived in Texas, it seemed like a month couldn’t go by that some bubba would stop me as I got out of our car and observe, “You ain’t handicapped.” The first one or two times, I would say (in my least friendly voice), “No, but my wife is,” and watch them furrow their brows at Karen. I suspect many of them would have liked to extricate themselves from their embarrassment by saying, “She ain’t that handicapped,” but even though she “only” uses a cane, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that Karen doesn’t have an easy time of it.
Did we ever lecture these busybody bubbas? We might have. It’s hard not to be at least a little angry over the unfairness of being young and disabled, and if a target for that anger presents its mulish ugly puss, why not take the opportunity to vent? But it does no good. The bubbas don’t learn and we’re no less unhappy than we were before.
I would never dream of bitching someone out for parking in a handicapped space, provided he had a placard, no matter how able-bodied that person looked. I can control my inner bubba. I can do that because I understand something about disability: it doesn’t always show up in a person’s gait. Some of these people are in severe pain, and not all of them limp. Sure, there are a lot of limpdicks out there with placards they don’t deserve; maybe their mom or grandmother died or had an extra, or maybe they had an injury which has long since healed. But I can’t know that. Ultimately, it’s none of my business.
***
Wasn’t it Karen’s brother who looked at our placard and said, “Gee, I wish I had one of those”? Or maybe it was my brother. Or both of them. Anyway, there’s only one reasonable response to a dimwitted comment like that: “No. You don’t.”
I have a fading memory of someone’s spouse getting all wide-eyed, saying, “Gee, honey, he’s right!”
No duh.
***
My philosophy on this? It’s better to let the limpdicks slide than to add to the troubles of the folks who already have a pile of crap on their shoulders. The limpdicks are their own punishment. I used to have the same philosophy when it came to prescribing pain meds: better that a few drug-seekers should get their fix than for me to under-treat someone who really needed his pain meds. That was before the Feds started busting docs for over-prescribing. Yes, I can go to jail for doing my job. Isn’t medicine in the USA wonderful?
***
Nah, I don’t know where I’m going with this. Life’s unfair. Bubbas are assholes. Not exactly a news flash, is it?
Live blogging tonight, probably after 8 PST. See ya.
D.
I have family members that have the temporary (18 or 24 mos. or something) for conditions that don’t necessarily reflect in the way they walk.
I guess maybe because the picture is of a person in a wheelchair that people get confused. You don’t have to be in a wheelchair or have a limp to have a legitimate need for a placard.
If I see a placard, I don’t worry about it. Sure, there is some abuse of the cards by family members and friends, but, for the most part, the card is there because someone actually needs it.
The ones that get me though are the ones without placards who will act handicapped. Saw one once that limped on the way to the store from the car, but walked perfectly fine from the store to the car…
You know, maybe instead of fines for parking in handicapped spots, there should be special parking spots located as far away from the store entrance as possible. If you get busted for using a handicapped spot when you or your passenger doesn’t need it, you should be required to park in the special parking spot for 6 to 24 months or whatever. Maybe that’ll teach people better than a fine.
Or, perhaps like The Scarlet Letter, we could stamp their cars with a great big J for jerk. Or DW for dickwad. Something indelible . . . just think what it would do to the resale value!
Oh, I know! Instead of branding their car, we just make them “drive” a Rhoades car! That’ll learn ’em!
That was before the Feds started busting docs for over-prescribing. Yes, I can go to jail for doing my job. Isn’t medicine in the USA wonderful?
I remember seeing a piece (I think maybe it was on 60 Minutes) on opiates and prescriptions. In some states the feds were busting physicians for giving opiates to such people as terminal cancer patients on the grounds that they were likely to become addicted.
It’s crazy. Although I should say that even here, where medicine is a lot more sane, they worry about addiction. I believe it’s a form of misplaced puritanism: it’s bad to be a drug addict, no matter what.
From what I understand, heroin is a very effective painkiller. It’s cheap and has few side effects for such a powerful drug. But it gets people high, and oh, no, we can’t have that.
All we need to do is load it into paper-wrapped cylinders, put ’em 20 to a pack, and sell them in markets and convenience stores, and everything would be okay.
i agree on the philosophy for the meds
and love the term or phrase “busybody Bubbas”
thanks, rdb. Alliteration rawks, eh?
You’re right. I tend to ignore the people in the handicapped spaces because its NOMB. But I do get my dander up if a handicapped person is parked in the Parent And Child spaces. I’ll be nosing in the car looking for signs of children; car seats, crumbs, toys, dvd player things on the headrest, smudges on the rear window, and if there’s not one…I get grumpy and complain loudly if anyone’s with me. Or glower at the car. I’ve got a vicious glower. This happens most at Ikea for some reason – a place where they have like 50 hanicapped spots and ten highly coveted P&C spots.
But what’s the law, Lyvvie? Here in the States, a handicapped placard entitles you to park anywhere (except for red curb zones).
All we need to do is load it into paper-wrapped cylinders, put ‘em 20 to a pack, and sell them in markets and convenience stores, and everything would be okay.
You forget that they’re trying to do everything they can to keep those away from people too.
No, what you need to do is find a way to make the stuff in liquid form and put them in aluminum cans with pull tabs. Then everything will be okay. Well, except you won’t be able to see patients on Sundays…
Being from Nashville, I know a lot of Bubbas. Here’s a Bubba joke. Bubba,an African American man, and a Yankee (translated – someone from up north) were all waiting at the hospital for their wives to deliver babies. All three babies were born at the same time, and somehow the hospital got the babies all mixed up when they took them to the nursery. The doctor explained that they were going to let the fathers draw straws, and the winner would get to choose which babies would be his. Bubba drew the long straw, so he got to pick first. It took Bubba a very long time, but finally he came out cradling the black baby. The African American man and the Yankee were puzzled. Bubba responded that he just couldn’t take a chance on picking that Yankee baby.