Confrontation at The Home Depot

Diana and I were walking into the Home Depot. A middle-aged woman in a Grand Jeep Cherokee zipped right past us, parked in a handicapped parking space and jogged into the garden section of the store.

I was indignant.

“Just look at that, Diana! Can you believe it!

“Now, now Lowell, just let it go. Don’t say a word.” Diana tried to deescalate the looming confrontation.

“Oh, I have plenty to say! You just wait and see.”

“Please don’t, Lowell! Please don’t!” Diana implored.

I wasn’t deterred.

As we walked into the garden section, Diana, to no avail, tried to reason with me.

I found the lady next to the fertilizer and compost.

“Ahem, ma’am.”

The woman turned toward me. “Yes?”

“Is that your Jeep Grand Cherokee parked out front?”

“Yes, it is. Is something wrong? Did someone hit my Jeep?”

“Oh no, ma’am. The Jeep is fine. I was just wondering if you were the person registered against the handicapped tag hanging on the rear-view mirror?”

And then it all hit the fan…

“I’ll have you know that you do not have to be missing a leg or in a wheelchair to be handicapped!”

And so the tirade began–yelling, cursing, and screaming.  I looked around for Diana. She probably had to shop for something–anything not garden related. Perhaps drywall?  She was definitely MIA. Poor George in the orange apron at the garden checkout sheepishly turned away–to give us our privacy, I guess.

In the midst of my tongue-thrashing, she began to wheeze and cough. Always the doc, I took a quick assessment. Glancing down, I noticed a sternotomy scar peaking out from between the beet-red heaving cleavage of my verbal assailant—evidence of prior open-heart surgery. I quickly scanned the store for an AED. I thought she was going collapse right there.

The lady did not collapse. And thankfully, neither did I. She eventually stormed off in a wheezy huff.

I went to find Diana. I guess we had drywall to buy.