I’m something of a rebel. I like to break the rules at times, as I typically find rules to be a waste of time and energy, except for Rules of Engagement on CBS. That show is hilarious despite David’s Spade’s character.
I don’t like to be bogged down by rules, which is why you should never agree to play any sort of board game with me. I will cheat and then lie about it. But I will completely deny this admission.
I also rip labels off mattresses and drink alcohol when on medication despite the warning label not to. I find it enhances my buzz and helps me forget the idiotic things I do while drinking. It does, however, add to the confusion when trying to determine how I got a new injury.
As you know, I volunteer at a local animal rescue shelter where they are probably sick of me, but haven’t figured out how to stop me from showing up. I think they’ve just learned to deal with me.
Little do they know the best way to get me to stop going anywhere is to require me to (1) work out or (2) not eat while I’m there. Don’t tell them though. I like it there.
Every Sunday night I train new volunteers to work at the shelter. Yes, I sculpt young minds (and old) into volunteering machines.
I like to tell myself I have an impact on the shelter, but I know that all I’m really doing is cracking jokes and talking about dog poo for a few hours. Which is probably what I would do at home anyway, so why not do it at the shelter?
One Sunday a few weeks ago I headed down to the shelter for my training shift, and as I got closer, I noticed there were cars everywhere.
I couldn’t find a parking spot within at least a mile of the shelter, which was ridiculous considering the shelter isn’t in a popular part of town for a Sunday afternoon.
A Tuesday morning at 2:00 a.m. for a crack purchase? Yes. But 4:00 p.m. for volunteering? Not so much. It took me a moment to realize that people were everywhere because of the parade celebrating the Cardinals’ World Series win.
Now, I’m a fan of the Cardinals and the World Series, as both give me an excuse to eat and drink excessively all in the name of sportsmanship. Anytime I can drink until 1:00 a.m. on a Monday with an excuse other than “because vodka tastes delicious,” I’ll take it.
But I don’t like it when sports interfere with my life in a bad way…like parking…or preempting reruns of The Big Bang Theory.
I continued my quest for a parking spot, convinced that not everyone in St. Louis was attending a stupid parade where candy was most likely not thrown at the viewers. What’s the point of going to a parade if there’s no chance of free candy?
Didn’t people know I was a very important person and needed to be at the shelter soon to impart my wisdom on others?
After growing tired of driving around the block looking for a parking spot, I decided to do something horrible and rebellious…something I would never do in other circumstances and would only consider in times of great duress…I parked in a handicapped spot.
Okay, okay. Before you judge me, please follow my logic. First, there was nowhere else to park.
This in itself should be a compelling enough reason, but I can provide more reasons why this was the only option.
Second, the parking lot where I parked was for a building that wasn’t open, so I wasn’t keeping handicapped people out, as the building was locked and not in use. The building was keeping handicapped people out. Not me.
Third, I hate walking anywhere, which is why I don’t live in New York. If there was a way I could have parked on the sidewalk outside the shelter door, I would have done so. I checked the sidewalk, and my car just wouldn’t fit.
I decided to roll the dice and keep my car parked in the handicapped spot, as it was the only spot available within a 2 mile radius, and you know I’m strongly against exercise.
I parked my car and exited the vehicle quickly, all the while pretending to limp so in case anyone was watching me, they would think I was handicapped and justified in parking where I did.
I limped to the shelter and decided that if anyone asked, my affliction would be polio. I knew nothing about polio, but I figured neither did anyone else, other than that FDR had it.
I also know it was sometimes confused with the sporting event and other times with short sleeved shirts.
With the public’s limited knowledge of polio, I could make up the symptoms on the spot, and hopefully use it to explain why my clothes didn’t match and I was wearing two different types of socks.
I spent a few hours at the shelter, all the while wondering if I would be busted for my horrible crime, or if I would get away with it. All of a sudden I knew how Kasey Anthony and OJ Simpson felt.
I approached, scared there would be a ticket on my windshield. As I got closer, I realized there was no ticket, nor was there a boot on my tire. I succeeded! I beat the system! It felt so amazing!
I was on top of the world and considered continuing my crime spree by failing to use my turn signal all the way home, but decided I would cut my losses and return to my boring life as a law abiding citizen.
Well, maybe I will be a law abiding citizen for the most part. I’m still not paying $6.00 for an 8 ounce soda at the movie theater when a smuggled in Diet Coke from my fridge will do.