When nursing a terminally ill family member, I drove into the local shopping centre car park, planning to use the designated disabled parking, for which we had the correct card to display on the dashboard. As I approached the spot, a young fellow in a work utility accelerated past and swerved into the spot. I had no joy trying to have him park elsewhere; all I got in return was foul-mouthed abuse, all of this in earshot of the patrons of an adjacent cafe. He just walked away “to pick up his lunch”.
I quietly parked behind him; with the protective bollards along the footpath in front of him, he had nowhere to go.
I slowly lifted the patient’s wheelchair out of the trunk of the car, placed the guide wheels and the foot pads onto the chair and placed it near the passenger door of our car. I then got our empty shopping bags out of the boot and hung them on the wheelchair. By this stage the guy was becoming quite agitated, and loud.
We then slowly got the ill family member out of the car and into the wheelchair, covered her legs with a rug, and generally move with absolutely no haste. I then wheeled her to the covered area of the footpath next to a cafe patron who offered to stay with her while I moved my car.
By this stage the guy was trying to convince me that he was going to lose his job if he couldn’t get back to work. At the same time, the cafe patrons had begun to ‘slow clap’ his antics. I took as long as possible to suggest that he not do this again - that there is actually a real reason for designated disability parking bays - and that the crowd watching would possibly always remember what a rude, belligerent person it is that drives that particular vehicle.
Then, I moved back so he could leave, then parked where he had been.
A most satisfying process.