People Don’t Care Much for Pointless Asides…

Strip mall in Santa Clara, California

Scenic Byways and Highways…


Oh oh…judging by my blog stats, this blog is in serious trouble.  Very serious trouble.

Perhaps I should finish my gun control post that I have thoughtfully titled “Gun Nuts Are Called Gun Nuts Because They Are Gun Nuts” or maybe press on with my thoughts on Emile Zola, a man about whom I have just the most simple biographical knowledge…or maybe it is time to finish my thoughts on why it is time to resurrect Marx’s theory of surplus value as it relates to today’s jobs crisis.


Or I could tell you about a woman I saw today park in a spot designated for handicapped drivers.  I think I’ll do that.


It is the damnedest thing.


We begin in a parking lot at a strip mall.  It is a brutally ugly strip mall situated in a desolate suburban waste so I am  trying not to make eye contact with ANYTHING when a large, late-model American sedan pulls up in the spot next to me.  This strip mall, like most strip malls, has a mostly empty parking lot so I thought it was odd that the woman would choose a spot right next to me until, of course, I see that it is a space reserved for handicapped drivers.


Immediately, I am ashamed to say, I am curious.  What kind of handicap could this woman have?  I was eager to know.


After much fumbling about in the car — and I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but I kind of expected it because I was sure she was getting a cane or an oxygen tank or something — she eventually  pops out of the car as light and cheery as a school boy.


Something just didn’t seem right.


So I checked and yes there was a rear view mirror thing hanging on the rear view mirror that likely validated her use of the handicap space, but gee…she didn’t seem very handicapped herself.  She must be picking someone up or maybe hauling a large load of something for someone who couldn’t move as well as she could.


But nope…she closed her car door, buttoned up her coat against the cold and  then walked past three store fronts — and past a half a dozen open parking spaces — into a Subway sandwich shop.  And that didn’t make sense.


Maybe she was picking up someone.  I waited.


Ten minutes later out she comes, spry as a wood nymph, escorting a perfectly healthy Subway sack back to her permit-only car.  And right past several open spaces again.  I’m guessing at this point that she’ll go into the store in front of the handicap spot, get her waiting handicapped friend and take him or her from the mall.  But I am wrong.  She gets in her car, sets lunch on the console, and drives away.


(I gave her a look.)


I am wondering, however, why, with several more convenient spaces open, did someone — who by all appearances didn’t need the benefit of a handicap parking spot, regardless of the parking situation — park in a handicap spot when she had a choice of several a more reasonable spaces closer to the Subway door?


English: Emile Zola c1875

Emile Zola.  Never Drove a Car.  Never Had to Park.


Because people are damn odd, that’s why.


But who knows, maybe she is writing a better blog than I can write.  Maybe she knows more about Emile Zola than most people know.  Perhaps she has already thought out the connections between Marx’s theory of surplus value and the causes of our lingering employment problems.  Or maybe she’s a nut.

There is time to ponder…


In the meantime, I’ll write about something else.  I promise.  Until I do, scroll down and search this blog for something better to read.  Tell your friends to do the same.  Let me know what you find.





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