I’m going to try and write a few of these columns where I point out random things I come across that diminish my faith in humanity. Think of it in the same light as SI’s column “This Week’s Sign of the Apocalypse.”
Over the past few years, the town of Southampton has been building a new post office. They have poured ridiculous amounts of money into the construction of the new 9,000 square foot facility, and it finally finished earlier this summer. The other day, I had my first experience with the new, re-vamped version of our lovable Federal Postal System, Hamptons-style. I pull into the parking lot, and it couldn’t be any more carelessly laid out. For a 2.2 acre piece of property, they felt that parking wasn’t important because the area is about the size of Verne Troyer. However, I didn’t even need to go inside to witness something that affirmed my (very negative) feelings about this place:
Normally, I would probably just shake my head at the idea that they have reserved parking spots for people who went green with their mode of transportation. HOWEVER, this is much bigger than that. For one, these spots are closer to the main entrance than the handicapped spots. That’s right, if someone in a wheelchair needs to go to the post office, he/she must walk/roll/glide/crawl farther than someone who believed what Al Gore was saying in that movie. To make matters worse, the Post Office decided to issue two of these spots in their pint-sized parking lot, but decided that the crippled of Southampton would have to live with only one spot. Sorry that both your legs are broken, grandma, but me and my new Prius matter more to these people than you do (Note: I realize that an elderly woman with two broken legs should NOT be operating a motor vehicle, but you understand my point). To spite the decision-makers of this poorly executed parking nook, and because there weren’t that many people at the post office, I took the liberty of filling one of these fuel efficient spots. Upon leaving, I see a gentleman who is speaking to a woman. He points at my vehicle, a 2001 GMC utility truck, and says “is that fuel efficient? That doesn’t look fuel efficient.” I could not hold it in any longer: I laugh hysterically. He looks at me with utter disdain, sees that my dirty work clothes match my ride, and gaffawes at me (Now I know what you’re thinking: what is a “gaffaw?” It’s what I call that snobbish emission of air a person lets out to let you know that they feel you’re below them. Traditionally, it’s used in terms of something that one should never feel bad about. ex: “you mean you don’t own a vacation home and live in the same house year-round?! *gaffaw*). As I collect myself, I look at him, smile, and say “no, it’s definitely not fuel-efficient.” I cannot believe that not only does the post office in Southampton have two spots reserved for fuel-efficient cars that are closer to the door than one handicapped spot, but someone was actually bothered by my disregard for it. Ugh, this place is going to hell.
