Wheelin’ for an Argument

Recently I was at a Hardee’s eating my way to a stroke when this old couple came walking in. Actually, one was rolling – in a wheelchair.
Everything was fine until the old woman – the guy in the wheelchair’s wife, I reckon – kept giving me the evil eye as they scanned the place for a seat. It got so bad I raised my eyebrows as if to say, “What the crap’s your problem?”
She said they’d like to sit where I was sitting, which was, low and behold, a table set up for handicapped people.
I was about done with my food anyway, so I obliged without hesitation. But had I just sat down, there’d be no way I’d do what she said, just because they’re both old and one is in a wheelchair.
I’ve had similar instances in the bathroom. If I find myself sitting on a handicap toilet, five times out of 14 Christopher Reeves is going to show up.
Should non-handicapped people feel bad about these situations? It’s not like anyone does these things intentionally. In Hardee’s that particular day, I had just sat at only table open that gave me a clear view of the front door (I have a thing about that, I guess you could say). And when I use a handicapped stall, it’s generally because it’s the only one available.
We give handicapped people parking spaces. You see how that system’s been abused (at this point I believe all you have to do is be fat to get a placard). Now we’re giving them tables and toilets.
At what point does it end? At what point do we say, “welp, sorry about your luck” and just leave them to deal with it like their wheelchair-bound ancestors. It’s not like anyone’s making them poop in the sink.
Another thing. The woman who came into Hardee’s was kind of cold about the situation, as if I were sitting there at the handicap table eating babies. She acted as if we were discussing a Native American reservation.
Really, Lady? Really? Because I’ve been running around the countryside since 9 a.m. (it was lunchtime during a work day). I stand all day long; Your husband gets to sit.
And you’re giving me guff?

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