Old News, or All About Handicap Parking Spaces At School

So, last night, a friend of mine posted a rant about school pickup and handicap parking.  She has a son with a wheelchair (he's in kindergarten), and people seem to be using the handicap parking as a five-minute pickup spot.  Her post reminded me of a similar situation we experienced last autumn.

I never wrote about it on my "public" blog, mostly because I was trying to understand my own motivations and my antagonist's behavior.  Also, I had to live with the situation for several more months, until we moved in early January. I didn't want to make it worse.  But I did write it up for the Tobler family blog, and got feedback from my siblings and mom.

Now that we are a year out from the situation, I have more perspective, and more humor about the whole kerfuffle.  And the kids don't attend the same school, and I never see my antagonist, and my friend from the first paragraph is experiencing a similar (and way worse, because her son is on a wheelchair) situation.  I decided to take the two posts I wrote about it on the family blog and put them up here.

Some of my new-found perspective helps me see that I was behaving more than a little like a entitled brat.  That doesn't make the other woman right, at all, but I'm not blameless in any of this.  Parking in the handicap spot is super-duper convenient, and Gee has the ability to navigate car pickup lines, even if it is a little harder for him. I certainly didn't (and still don't) NEED to park in handicap spots for him.  But it does make his life a little easier.

Anyway, here it is, in all its ridiculous glory.  Warning:  SUPER LONG POST AHEAD.

(Friday, September 21, 2012)
So, on the first day of kindergarten, I drove to pick Gee up.  While waiting for the kids to get out, I chatted with some of the other waiting moms.  Normal stuff--is your kindergartner a boy or girl; do you have older kids in school; crazy that our babies are so big, etc.  One of the women there (we'll call her Liz, because that's her name and it's sufficiently common enough to provide anonymity), seemed to be determined to either one-up everyone or know everything there is to know.  It wasn't HORRIBLY blatant, but enough there that even as I talked with her, I was thinking, "Oh, wow..."  Although her oldest child is the kindergartner, she wanted to seem to know everything about the school.  She wanted to make sure everyone knew that she had three other small children at home (so?), and that she had walked.  "We're going to walk every time the weather is good.  It's such good exercise, and only seven blocks!"

"Oh!" said I.  "Where do you live?"

"Over by Fresh Market," she pointed.

"I was just wondering because I live seven blocks away, too!  Only down by the library park," I said.

"And you DROVE?!?  You really should walk!" was her response.

Whoa.  Really?  I just met you, lady.  You know nothing about my family and situation.  (And if I were being catty, I would point out that she lives seven blocks away on flat streets, whereas I live down two hills, one of them pretty big.)

Despite being a little taken aback, I was mostly just amused.  And a little embarrassed for her, because I knew what was going to happen next.

"Well, my kindergartner is physically handicapped.  He has a difficult time walking long distances because he has spina bifida and wears leg braces.  So that's why we have the handicap tags."  I waved my hand over to my car.  "Gee can walk to church, but that's only three blocks, and it takes him a long time and tires him out."

Liz looked a little embarrassed, but right then the kindergartners got out, and I got to deal with my boy and his disappointing first day.

In telling Mema, Telima, and Bradley about the day, I totally laughed off poor Liz.  I imagined that she was feeling terribly embarrassed about her flubs.  I imagined that she was beating herself up, mentally, for being so awkward and feeling weird about it.  That's what I would have done.

And maybe she did.  But I'm not sure anymore.

For the next couple of days, whenever we'd chat, she'd say something that just made me shake my head (figuratively).  No big deal, though.

And then, the second week of kindergarten, she pulled into the hatch-marked handicap loading zone, right next to my van.  Her van was blocking the curb cutout that leads to the sidewalk.  (By the way, it was a perfectly beautiful day that day...)

I can't remember, now, if I said something to her that day, or if I waited for the next time it happened.  But I screwed up my courage, and very politely asked if she would not park in the loading zone, because that made it hard for my boy to get out to the car.  She nodded and said "Oh, sure, sure!"

And, to give credit where due, she hasn't since.  No, she just parks in the other handicap spot.  EVERY time she picks up her kid in the car.  (At least three times a week, I'd guess.  Not that I'm counting or anything.)  (Except I totally am.)

Now, two other people have pulled into the hatch zone to pick up kids, and I've politely asked both of them to refrain, and both were uber polite and apologetic.  And now they both always park in the right spots.  (Yesterday there was another car, but I didn't say anything because I wasn't feeling well and I was getting tired of being the parking police.  So I talked to Mrs. L (the kindergarten teacher) instead.  She's going to mention it up in her monthly newsletter.)

So, today when I went to pick up Gee, there was an unfamiliar car in the handicap spot I usually use.  This car had a handicap tag, so no problem.  But guess who was in the other handicap spot?

Liz.

Which meant we had to park pretty far away.  It's funny (not) how angry I felt.  I didn't feel in control of my feelings enough to talk to Liz about it.  And then, of course, Gee hates change and is so tired after school anyway that he complained and whined all the way over to the car.  (He needs to buck up, buttercup.  I told him that, and mentioned if he was so tired, then he could take a nap when we got home.  He stopped after that.)

Why do I get so frustrated about this?  I feel like she's acting entitled, but am I acting entitled to that prime spot, right in front of the door.  After all, it's not raining or snowing or icy. (Like the time last year when people were illegally parked in the handicap spots, and Gee fell full on into the gutter filled with icy, murky water.  I was SO TICKED that day that I don't think I ever wrote about it.)  Gee is perfectly capable of walking that fifty meters to the car, even if he has a hard time navigating the curbs and the stairs.

So, what say you, family?  Am I being entitled?  And what should I do about this situation?

My family answered as you might expect, with reassurances and suggestions.  Then the following happened the very next week.

(Thursday, September 26, 2012)
Okay, it's been 24 hours now, so I think I can write about this without frothing at the mouth or laughing hysterically.  Hopefully.

To set the stage:  It was on Friday that I posted my big long rant about Liz and the handicap parking spot.  I also posted on Facebook, in brief, just about how frustrating it is when handicap slots are taken by non-handicapped vehicles.  My local friends jumped in and supported me, and one in particular (we'll call her "Jayne"; her child is in Gee's class, and she overheard me talking to the teacher on Thursday) was all ready to go picket at the kindergarten pickup line.

Come to this Monday: My van was in the shop, getting new shocks and tires and oil and all that expensive jazz.  (But not new brakes, despite their squeakiness.  Apparently they are just fine, albeit noisy.)  Instead of dragging my lazy self up the hill to the school to fetch Gee after kindergarten, I asked Mema to do it (on Tuesday, too).  (Remember, the kids take the bus with Daddy in the morning and the big kids walk home after school.)

Well, unbeknownst to me, Jayne decided to take things into her own hands.  She called me on Tuesday afternoon, and told me of her adventures of the last two pickup times.

(Jayne is the type of woman who really doesn't take gruff from anyone, and is fiercely loyal.  Although we've never had a chance to work together in callings, she and I know each other on a ward level, at least.  She's funny and cool and a great camp director.)

When she got to kindergarten pickup on Monday, she went into the school, grabbed the tall orange cones they use before and after school in the crosswalks, and put them in the hatchmarks in the handicapped area.  And then she stood there.  At one point, someone pulled in, and Jayne walked up to talk to her.  "Hey, just so you know, the school has asked us not to park here."  The lady in the car said something like, "Oh, you're right, I'm sorry" and pulled around to the correct area.  Yay!

Then Liz came up, walking.  Jayne has actually met (and dealt with) Liz before, when both their daughters were in a dance class together.  Jayne walked over to Liz and said, "Hey, Liz, the school has asked us not to park in the handicap zone...I noticed that you were parked there on Friday.  Just wanted to let you know, because none of us need a $400 ticket right before Christmas."

Liz answered something like this:  "Oh, I know why.  She's talked to me about it before."  And then it began.

I can't remember everything, in order, that Jayne told me.  But here are some of the gems:

"The time I parked in the hatched area, I totally stopped far enough back that her son could walk down the curb cutout.  He had plenty of room.  But she talked to me anyway, and I haven't parked there since."

When Jayne pointed out that she then parked in the actual handicap spot, Liz answered, "Yes, I do.  I have four kids under five, and this is naptime for two of them, and I'm not going to get them out of the car, especially when it's raining or snowy or cold.  There are four spots -- [Jayne:  "Four?    There's only two."  Liz:  "Four:  the two hatch zones, and the two handicap spots"  Jayne:  "Oooookay."] -- so she can park in her spot and I will park over here."

Jayne:  "But on Friday, someone with a handicap sticker was parked in that one, and you were parked in the other one.  Keryn had to go to the far end of the pickup line to park and then walk back to the door."

Liz:  "I know.  I watched her."

Wow.

"Well," Jayne said, "if you park in the pickup lane, you can just leave your kids in the car for less than a minute, just like the rest of the moms do."  Liz said, "I'm not going to leave my kids in the car.  And the rest of us love our kids as much as she loves hers."

Oh, good.  I'm glad she cleared that up, I was thinking that OF COURSE I love my kids more than her.  And everyone else, too.

Also:  "Is she going to follow him around making things easier on him for his whole life?"  (Um, YES, at least while he's a KINDERGARTNER.)

She also said this:  "She talked to me, and I know she talked to some other moms.  You need to tell her, all the other moms agree with me.  And she should know, if she talks to some of the other moms that are more aggressive than me, she's going to get something handed back to her."  (At this point, Jayne told me she was thinking, "Oh, yeah?  Bring it, babe!"  It made me laugh.) Jayne said, "I know you don't know Keryn, but she's the nicest, sweetest gal in the world..."  Liz said, "I know you think she's nice, she's in your ward."

Jayne asked her if it was because Gee can walk, sort of, and isn't in a wheelchair.  Liz said, "No, that wouldn't change anything."  Jayne also asked if she parks in the handicap spots at Wal-Mart.  "No," she said.  "But here, I'm in my car the WHOLE time."

Jayne tried, very hard, to get her to at least agree that she won't park in the handicapped zones anymore.  No dice.  Liz was not going to back down, admit she was wrong, or even grudgingly agree to humor me or anything.

So:  Liz talks about me behind my back, at least that's the implication.  Also implied: a) I think I'm special because I have a handicapped son and b) he's really not that badly handicapped, or something.  Also c) I'm a spoiled brat because I want to use the handicap space, so I don't have to get my kids out of the car in the bad weather, with the corollary that d) because she has many small children, she deserves to park in the handicap zone.

Wow.  She has more problems than I know what to do with.

I was nervous going to pickup today.  However, I didn't see her.  I didn't see her van parked in the pickup line -- or the handicap spot, although someone else was, and no, I didn't tell them to leave; I'm nervous about that nowadays -- and I didn't see her walking, either.  In the scrum of kindergartners finding moms and grandmas, Liz's daughter left and I didn't see who picked her up.

But I'm not going to change much about my routine.  I think I will still ask people to move if they are parked in the hatch zone, and I have decided that I will park behind people if they are illegally parked in the handicap zone and there isn't another place for me park.  Other than that, I'm going to treat her like any other mom picking up her child.  Smile and nod, baby.

Sorry about the novel-length post.  It feels good to get it all out (which I did with Telima, Mema, and Bradley yesterday, all in turn.  Heh.), and to record what happened.  Hopefully this will be the worst case of ignorance Gee has to encounter in his life.  (But I doubt it.)  Sigh.

And there you go.  The drama of life in suburbia.  Heh.