I rolled into the lot at @4:50 AM and had her gassed up as usual. The msn known as Popa, she boss of the lot told me to park her in one of the spots for cars on the disabled or deceased list sit. "Take all of you stuff, turn off the engine and leave it there.". Leave it unlocked. You'll never drive it again."
My garage has a color and point rating system in which I am deemed to be Gold. My numerical score fluctuates but it's high. I am gold. Six nights a week. Blizzards, hurricanes, Presidential gridlock, Christmas, July 4, Labor Day, Sunday, whatever. I show. Yet I get that same raggedy Prius, the one I too often have to bring to the shop while I am paying. The one that when she was newer would get sold (educated guess) out from under me on Saturday nights. Roman would then have me wait for a raggedy one. On my time. And my dime.
Prius is smaller and tighter than a camry. I am obese, arthritic and sometime need a cane. I'm 68 years old. It hurts physically the getting in and out.
You might ask why this treatment oh ancient man of gold?
It's not racism. Not ageism. Not Jew hate. Not lookism. What then?
Ask Louie da Palma. Maybe he knows.
