The day I went all Towanda on the world

That would be today, when I pulled in to my work parking lot at 8:45 and discovered all of the handicap spots were already taken.

And so I called the business that owns the parking lot and asked what the chances were that they would designate more spots for disabled people. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to park in the hinterlands and limp it into the building on a 100-plus degree day.

I’m coming off a pretty prickly exacerbation that made it painful to walk, and besides, it’s just too darn hot to be able to go more than 50 feet without wanting to pass out.

The conversation took a downward turn when she said that they had the minimum number of spots required. And then came the comment that really worked me into a lather.

“Maybe if you got to work earlier there would be a spot available for you.”

Lady, seriously? I work 40-plus hours a week as is. And then some. I don’t get paid overtime for that, either. And I was there 15 minutes before I needed to be. So, no, I don’t need to adjust my schedule to put my already taxed body through more paces.

It’s bad enough you jacked up your rates. You need to do the right thing.

And I counted your spots. You are most definitely in violation of the ADA. By my math, you should have at least seven spots, and you only have five.

So expect my wrath to rain down upon you. Probably in the form of a tersely worded letter. And a complaint to the DOJ.

Because I will go Towanda the avenger — righter of wrongs, queen beyond compare!