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It’s been one of those weekends.

One of those weekends where nothing has gone right and I am pissed off at the world and everyone in it.

Fortunately, I’m only in this mood 52 weekends out of the year, so things should turn around shortly.

For whatever reason, I have had one hell of a frustrating weekend with regards to transportation around Vegas.

Due to my dedication to stemming the effects of global warming, and to express my unconditional love for mother earth, for the first time in many months … I decided to avail myself of a city bus on Friday.  When I say “city bus”, I do not mean a semi-functional line such as the Deuce or the 108 … I am talking about a bus that primarily winds through locals-only areas of the city.

While embarking on this trip, it never took me so long to go so short a distance in a motor vehicle in my entire life.  In the roughly 5 miles I travelled on the bus to my initial destination, we had to stop to load or unload no less than 8 wheelchairs.  For those who have never been on a crowded bus when a wheelchair needs to be accommodated, believe me when I tell you that it can be quite chaotic.

Everyone else on the bus must cram themselves toward the back while the driver lowers the bus, folds up 3 to 4 seats, secures the chair to a space in front, raises the bus, and then continues.  This process takes roughly 3-5 minutes.  Each time.  It also reduces the capacity of the bus.

After reaching my destination nearly 50 minutes late (the bus was delayed picking up wheelchairs before my stop), and taking care of my business, I got on the bus and headed back to The Strip environs.

Once again, the process was repeated, albeit with only 5 wheelchair stops this time.  The inconvenience was exacerbated by the final wheelchair guy screaming “Don’t touch me!” to anyone who came within six inches of him.  Apparently, he had booked a seat in first class.

When the ACE bus begins running in 6 weeks, I will take it.  If the 108 continues running to the airport and Downtown, I will take it.  If The Deuce bus continues running, I will take it.  If the monorail continues running, I will take it.  I will, however, never again take any other bus in this city from this point forward.  Our public buses have become little more than a para-transit system, and regardless of how “mean” it sounds, this has rendered the buses completely unusable for anyone who has to adhere to any semblance of a schedule.

Don’t get me wrong.  I am very sympathetic to the plight of wheelchair-bound people.  There for but the grace of Jesus the Mexican Shortstop go I.  It is, however, completely impossible to run a mass transit system where the majority must so routinely be delayed by those with special needs.  It just can’t be done.  It’s like an airline scheduling a flight from LA to NY where the plane has to stop 8 times on the way for a single patient to receive kidney dialysis.  Most people will not book the flight.  This is not because they are unkind people, it’s because such a flight would not reasonably meet the needs of the majority of the travelling public.

Such is the state of public transit in Vegas.

After swearing off Las Vegas Paratransit for my commuting needs, today I decided to expedite my errand schedule by hopping in my personal automobile and driving to the grocery store.  Don’t worry, before leaving the house, I bought carbon credits to offset my vehicular damage to the polar ice caps.

What happened when I got to the store brings me to my next minor rant, however.

Few things piss me off more than the patently asinine, ridiculous, pointless, economically detrimental, municipal revenue-generating scheme known as “Handicap Parking” or as I sometimes call it “Handicrap Parking”.  Okay, lots of things piss me off more, just not today.

You see, the grocery store I use, used to have a few rows of handicap parking spaces near the door.  Recently, to increase the capacity of the parking lot, they converted several of the handicap spaces into regular parking spaces.  In order to convert the spaces, they took down the wheelchair signs and painted over the blue wheelchair icon on the pavement.

Unfortunately, the old wheelchair symbol still shows through the new layer of asphalt ever-so-slightly, and this gives a certain segment of the population probable cause to harass the hell out of anyone who dare park in the new non-handicap spaces.

Today, I was the recipient of one of these tongue lashings.

As soon as I pulled my environment-killer into the parking spot and shut the door, I was approached by a decrepit old busybody with blue hair and gray pubes.  I’m making assumptions about the pubes.  I didn’t check.  I swear.  Okay, maybe I checked, but that’s not the point.

Anyway, this barren dingbat and bastion of senility began yelling at me and pulled something out of her purse to “write down my license plate number to report me”.

According to her, I was in a handicap parking space.  Except that I wasn’t.

I didn’t bother stopping to engage this walking can of erecticide in debate over the subject, and that seemed to enrage her more.

“What happens if a sick person needs this space?”, she screeched.

“I guess they’ll die”, I said as I quickly made my way inside.

She seemed speechless, probably for once in her coitus-less life.

I hate stupid F’ing handicap parking spaces and the walking abortions who take it upon themselves to indignantly police them.

There have been many occasions in which I have gone to a store, and the lot is completely full except for the copious number of capped parking spaces.  Places like 7-11 having handicap parking spaces is ridiculous because said spaces can take up 50% or more of all available parking.  Unless over 50% of your patrons are paraplegic, this can be economically disastrous, and it can be very dangerous as customers try to maneuver in and out of the tiny lots.  In my opinion, handicap spaces cause far more problems than they solve, and they are often an unnecessary inconvenience and complete waste of real estate.

“You’re an insensitive ass Rex.  If you were handicapped, you would understand.”

First of all, I cannot walk without pain.  I have two decimated knees.  At the end of a day, it feels like someone is prying off both kneecaps with a dagger.

Second of all, somewhere south of 1% of people who use these spaces are truly “handicap”.  There is no more abused mandate on earth than “handicap parking”.  Not counting medical center lots, I can count on my penis the number of times in the past month I have seen a wheelchair-bound person get into or out of a car from one of these spaces.

More often than not, it is a normal-walking person, or an obese person using the space.  This means that, in my estimation, 99% of people who use the spaces are fat and/or lazy.  As such, giving these spots to them only compounds the problem of their fat and/or laziness.  Giving most of these people handicap spaces only enables them.  It is like giving a cigarette to a cancer patient.  It may make them happy, but it certainly doesn’t help their condition.

If people are truly “handicap” and absolutely need such spaces, how do these people shop once they are done parking their cars?

For the sake of argument, let’s say you are handicapped, and you thus procure the parking space 3 1/2 feet closer to the Minimart entrance.

Now what?

You still have to get out, get into the store, move up and down the isles, check out, and get back in the car.

If you can do all of this, guess what … you’re cured!  Hallelujah, Praise Leonard Cohen, it’s a miracle!  Rejoice in the lord always, and again I say rejoice!  You no longer need a special parking space!

The extra few feet is statistically and calorically insignificant to your quest for Folgers Crystals.  The fact that you are at the store and are able to shop is prima-face evidence that your handicap tag is superfluous.

“But Rex, some of them are old.”

If that is the case, then the rest of us are laboring to provide them with Social Security checks, in which case their priority should be getting us on our way as quickly as possible.  If young people always have to wait in line behind cottonheads, then the entire pyramid scheme grinds to a halt.

Why do we have to be nice to old motherf*ckers and pay them?

Hey old farts, about that monthly check and free healthcare … you’re welcome.  You sure as hell won’t be around to pay for ours, and no, it’s not in a “lockbox”.  It gets yanked out of that whippersnapper’s paycheck.  Be careful what you ask for, you might get it.  If you succeed in making the world wait for your wrinkled ass, then you better hope to hell you are stocked up on cat food so you don’t starve to death this winter.

Same goes for the Q-Tip heads and handicapped people holding up public buses for 5 minutes to get off and on.  The other 50 people on that vehicle are trying to get to work.  If they’re late again because they didn’t factor the 20th wheelchair into their commute on this day, they will get fired, and I think it is safe to say that unemployed workers are not good for people dependent on social services.

The next time you see a young(er) person trying to get somewhere, you may want to can the indignant shit and give up your parking space or seat while extending a hearty “thank you” to people who are still busting their ass trying to prop up this house-of-cards economy that is the placenta at the end of your financial umbilical cord.  Let’s face it old people, you don’t have anyplace to be.  Even if you park at the far end of the Walfart lot, you’ll still make it back in time to see Matlock solve the case.

Now if you will excuse me, I need to relax.

I’m going to go sit in a dimly lit room and scrape myself while listening to Portishead.

A perfect end to a perfect weekend.

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