Don't worry... this rant will just be a minute...

Today was one of those days that just slaps you in the face with the wet, squishy, stinging ignorance of people -- and it left a mark.

As a person with a disability, I spend a LOT of my time being dissed by able-bodied folk on my own turf. Morons who park illegally in the handicapped stalls, even bigger morons who park illegally in the loading zones attached to said handicapped parking stalls, and the vapid, selfish women who feel the wheelchair-accessible cubicle is the ONLY place in the washroom where they can do #2.

Oh, I'm going there. The gloves are off...

Because, today, after I wasn't able to pick up my wine order after thirty full minutes of ignoramuses thwarting me, I had plenty of time to total up how much of my life I have lost (and will lose) because people will "just be a minute."

Example #1: We're driving around a less-than-half-full parking lot and cannot find a place to park.

You see, those "good parking spots" with the biiig, wiiiiide open, yellow or blue diagonally-striped "parking spots" adjacent were not put there for you to sit while waiting for your father/personal chef/husband/child/wife/friend/juggler/TV anchorman. Those striped "spots" are wheelchair loading zones, and without access to them, I CAN'T GET OUT OF MY CAR. In many countries (including this one), the widely recognized symbol for a "No Parking Zone" is diagonal striping.

Now, I'm a fit, healthy(ish) young woman, and don't mind a quick jaunt from the back of the parking lot on a good day (or a push on a bad one), but I do take umbrage when someone parks next to me and completely bars me from getting into or out of my own vehicle, hence the creation of Loading Zones. That same nifty law also created parking spots that bear a glyph that looks a lot like me and my brethren. Check out the family resemblance:

Pretty cool, eh?  I think my hair is a little nicer, but we have the same arms, though my head isn't quite as round.  And blue just washes me out completely.

Anyway, I have chased so many people out of our spots who tried to validate their bad behaviour by explaining, "Well, I'm just going to be a minute."

Not.  Good.  Enough.

You see, by doing this, you are breaking the law.  You are also inconveniencing and hurting me, sucking away valuable minutes of my life.  So, in return, would you find it acceptable if I punched you in the face for "a minute"?  (BTW, "a minute" is an indeterminate measure of time between five and forty-five actual minutes.)  That would be breaking the law, ruining your day, and completely inconveniencing you.  It would also suck majorly, wouldn't it?  But, I don't do that, because I'm not a law-breaking, mean-spirited, ignorant suckhole of a humanoid.

So, to you, Dude in The Parking Lot Who Parked Illegally In The Handicapped Stall Today: Face Punch.  I don't find it chivalrous that you took away my lawful civil rights while you waited for your wife, and no, I don't find being a douchebag a disability.  So, next time, find someplace else to idle your fume-spewing minivan.  Although, I did find it funny when I told you that if you wanted to wait for her, why didn't you park even closer to the front, in the Fire Lane, where you wouldn't inconvenience anyone?  (Unless the building caught fire, but then you'd have bigger problems, I suppose.)  And, with flawless comic timing, you responded by looking at me blankly and saying, "But, I can't park there...that's illegal."

You, sir, are an idiot.

And you also made us late for dinner, which leads me to...

Example #2: I drank a glass of water and a whole pot of tea to myself at the restaurant.  Before we left to go pick up the wine, I excused myself to the ladies'.  The restaurant was mostly empty, and very few were female diners, so I wasn't surprised to find the washroom completely deserted...except for one cubicle.  Mine.

I say mine, but had another girl with a disability been present, it would've been hers.  It's OURS.  It was made for us, so we can get our wheelchairs (walkers, crutches, etc.) in, shut the door behind us, make use of the rails and taller toilets, and do our business like "normal people" get to do.  It was even made so that people with difficulties getting up and down can make use of the same amenities.  Without us, and our struggles, it wouldn't exist.  Period.  It was NOT made so that you can go into "the big stall" and feel special while going #2.  Sorry.  If you want a special Poopie Room, call your MP, Congressman, or Senator and complain.

Because, sister, I really don't want to sit there for TWENTY FREAKIN' MINUTES listening to your...well... ugh... sounds!

Naturally, she was perfectly able-bodied, and said as much to me, but just wanted, "privacy."

THEN DON'T GO OUT IN PUBLIC!

Or, better yet, go rent a whoooooole hotel room, just so you can make a doody.

Incidentally, it's also not your personal changing room, the stall for you to go chat with your BFF and swap wrap dresses, nor the place to do your icky drugs.

In conclusion, because of her bowel issues and total lack of human civility, I missed getting to the wine place to pick up my order.  I'm not pleased.  Maybe next time I just shouldn't eat.  Or wear a diaper under my Wolford tights.

I could go on with my frustrated PSA, but I promised a mathematical summary of how many days and weeks of my life I will never get back thanks to these individuals.  Assuming Pi * r (squared) and A(squared) + B(squared) = C(squared), and I lose (on average) thirty minutes each time I leave the house, and I do so at least five times a week, then the magic number is....[drumroll]...

5.42 days per year

So, given that I've been in a wheelchair since 1994, I've already lost about 53 days off my life.  Now, let's be optimistic and say that I'm going to live to a ripe-old age of 80 (though, what with the added stress of these morons, is highly unlikely)... that means another 271 days gone, for no darned good reason.

All total, we're talking about 324 days -- almost one full year -- of my life squandered by able-bodied people in space rightfully created for the disabled community through hard work, legislation, marches, protests, and lawsuits.  And that's a conservative calculation.  Essentially, I'm going to lose at least a year off my life because of Pooping Lady and Parking Lot Douche.

Thanks to both of them for "just being a minute."