Space Race

THE SPACE RACE ?

Driving into the car-park of the Fresco Superstore, Albert Handyside
could see through the rain streaked windscreen of his eight years old
Skoda that all the disabled parking places were taken. It never failed
to amaze Albert how many able-bodied people felt justified in using
these bays when it rained. "It's bad enough the selfish bastards using
orange cards who don't qualify." He muttered to himself. Albert often
wondered if they'd got their badges' for a bad hand of dominoes, or
maybe inherited it from a long dead granny. That was how it often
seemed to him, he'd actually seen folk who'd after pulling into a
disabled spot, jump out and then stride briskly away.
Over the years Albert had heard many excuses from fit people he'd
remonstrated with for misappropriating various disabled spaces. They'd
justified their trespass with all kinds of creative fabricated reasons
such as: "It doesn't show but my doctor 's told me this morning that
I'm pregnant. "Or: "Well it's Sunday you can park where you like on
Sunday? Can't you? Others only proffered an obscenity with a
two-fingered salute. Some flaunted badges but they were certainly not
their own.
While he waited for a space to become available he observed one such
person dashing towards a car parked in one of the bays. The obviously
fit young man was carrying four plastic bags brimming with groceries.
Albert waited patiently while the shopper stowed his goods, and leapt
nimbly into his motor, and reversed out of the bay. When the fit young
man's car was clear Albert began to line up the Skoda to enter the
vacated space. Before he could complete this manoeuvre however a sporty
looking car with its tyres and brakes screaming, zoomed into the space
almost knocking Albert's bumper off in the process.
Bartholomew D'Arcy Jones (with a hyphen of course) or Bart to his chums
in the city was extremely proud of his three months old Porche Carrera.
Never more so, than when it beat the rusting Skoda, into that choice
parking space at 1.00 o'clock on the wet February afternoon in the
Fresco Superstore car park. There would have been no doubt whatsoever
to anyone observing the scene, that Bart was agile and very upwardly
mobile as he sprang out of the Carrera.
"What an inconsiderate plonker" Albert grumbled as he pulled himself
together, after almost losing his bumper and most certainly losing his
parking space to the Porche. He was boiling as he wound down the
window, but he controlled his temper as he called out to the young man
as he emerged from the gleaming status symbol. "Excuse me! I say excuse
me sir." "Yah! You talking to me chummy?" Replied the young man.
"Yes sir you don't seem to have noticed that's a disabled parking space
you've parked in, you need an orange card." "Is it gosh? Still I don't
mind? No thanks, don't want an orange card, I've given already, it's
tax deductible don't you know?" As D'Arcy Jones said this a cellular
phone from within his car gave out an insistent electronic
warble.
Albert watched as Bart reached inside, picked up the phone, and after
pressing the connect button began speaking. He could clearly hear one
side of the telephone conversation, because Bart was certainly not
reticent as he spoke into the instrument. "D'Arcy Jones here? Hi Nigel?
Fifty K?? Ready to sign is he?? Great? Super? Coooool? Don't worry?
Yah. I'll be there. Look Nige' I'll have to dash if I'm to see you in
thirty minutes? Yah?Yah super? Tramps Wine Bar OK? I realise how
important it is? Ciao Nige'." After returning the phone to its holster
in the Carrera. Bart pressed the remote locking device, and turned to
walk away towards the store. Albert called after him. "Sir!? Sir!? The
parking space? "Look chummy, love to talk to you? Can't!? Must dash!?
You can have my space in ten minutes. Bye!" Bart replied
Albert in desperation called to the departing D'Arcy Jones "Look if you
don't move it I'll get the manager. "Don't be silly there's nothing
that moron can do. This conversation's getting boring old chap. Time's
money! Can't hang around! Matter of life and death." Bart retorted
loudly. "Sir you a doctor then?" Albert enquired. "No Lombard! Shares
Consultant! Ciao!" Answered Bart as he jogged off towards the
store.
Later on, the young executive having left, Albert Handyside gazed
thoughtfully at the Porsche. After giving the matter two coats of
looking at he manoeuvred his Skoda so that its nearside almost touched
the bumper of the Carrera. Doing it in such a way that he caused no
obstruction to any other vehicle than the Porche. Having boxed Bart in,
he removed his wheelchair from the car, and with difficulty assembled
and climbed into it.
Twenty minutes after the parking incident Albert was sitting in his
chair in the up market restaurant of Fresco's. He was enjoying a fillet
steak with all the trimmings, in the background the address system was
playing the kind of piped musac you can talk with. This coupled with
what Albert called seduced lighting gave the place a somewhat plush
opulent ambience.
What a life he thought as he relished his meal. His reverie was
disturbed when a robotic, female, singsong voice preceded by a
ping-pong, replaced the muted melody of piped sanitised Mantovani.
"Will the owner of a rust coloured Skoda, registration number P155 OFF
please go to the car park where their vehicle is causing an
obstruction. Thank you!
When he heard the message Albert mused. God we have gone the full
circle, at one time they worked at getting robots to sound human. Now
they're obviously schooling humans to sound like robots. The message
was repeated several times, each time the message was delivered more
urgently than the previous one. By the time the fourth announcement was
given Miss Robot was sounding very human indeed with a noticeable
panicky Geordie timbre to her contrived nasal mechanical enunciation,
even the pings and pongs sounded anxious.
When he'd finished every last bite of his main course he summoned the
waitress, who smiled kindly as she came to Albert's table, he returned
the smile as he spoke to her.
"Could I have some Black Forest Gateaux with cream please, and would
you let customer services know I'm in the restaurant. I believe that
last message was about my car."
As she turned to walk away Albert called her back and said "Oh and will
you bring me a cafeteri of Blue Mountain Coffee, err a large one and an
extra cup. Oh yes! And could you bring me a box of Brandy Snaps to take
out." She gave him a look of approval as she answered. "Yes sir, the
Brandy Snaps a box to take out. They're my favourite too. I'd eat them
all the time if I could afford to." "In that case get another box for
yourself and put them on my bill." The waitress flushed as she replied
politely. "Thank you very much sir. I'll let customer services know
where you are. "Oh! And would you please get me five King Edward
Imperial Cigars?" He requested.
Having finished his sweet. The disabled diner was pouring himself a
coffee when a very furious looking D'Arcy Jones, attended by Mr.
Richard Lee the store manager exploded into the restaurant. His eyes
searched wildly around the room and blazed when they caught sight of
Albert. He stormed over to the table followed closely by the bewildered
manager. Placing both hands firmly on the white linen tablecloth, and
with his nose almost touching that of the diner he shouted or rather
screamed. "Do you realise that bleeding rust bucket of yours is
blocking my car in?" Then spinning around he addressed Dick Lee. "Tell
this? this? damned man to move his heap of old junk. I've got a very
important meeting. He's costing me money? Go on man! Tell him." Before
Lee could answer Albert interceded "now sir calm down? calm down? we
wont get anywhere being rude. Will we?" Besides I thought you told me
earlier in the car park, and I quote you. The manager here is a moron,
and couldn't do anything about parking problems. Didn't you?" Chided
the disabled man. "Did you say that? sir? The store manager growled
scowling at Jones. "Well you know how it is? heat of the moment and all
that? you know? didn't mean anything detrimental? no insult intended?
sorry." He babbled sheepishly, and at the same time shrunk away from
the manager like some mischievous schoolboy who'd been caught flicking
ink pellets at the teacher. "In that case it would seem there's nothing
left for me to do, so I'll bid you good day, and leave you gentlemen to
sort it out between your two selves." Snarled the offended manager. I
say! Just hang on a moment? you can't? you can't just go." Whined Bart.
"What exactly is it you want me to do? It would seem you have expressed
doubts about my ability to resolve this matter in the first place."
Retorted the obviously very incensed Mr. Lee.
"Look? I'm sorry? You know how it is. I didn't mean? please just hold
on until this Johnny in the wheelchair agrees to move his vehicle."
Moaned D'Arcy Jones grovelling to the angry manager. "What do you mean
agrees? I never said I wouldn't move the car, but you will have to wait
until my helper returns to push my chair." Albert explained. "It would
seem your problem is no more then gentlemen, so I'll bid you good day
again." Proclaimed the irked manager, and with that Mr. Lee glowered at
Bart and left the two divergent customers to sort out their
differences. Dick Lee beamed inwardly as he departed, he felt sure that
the arrogant yuppie had met more than his match in the shrewd,
disabled, Albert Handyside.
"I say where the devil is this damned helper of yours? How long are
they going to be?" Grumbled the Porche owner glancing at his watch. "Oh
only about half an hour sir. She's doing my shopping." Albert replied
with a beguiling naive look on his face. "I can't wait half a sodding
hour! We'll have to tannoy her then." Snapped D'Arcy Jones angrily.
"Can't! She's deaf" Retorted Albert with an apparent poker face. "Look
I'll push your wheelchair come on." Condescended Bart. "I'll have to
wait she has my credit card and I need it to pay for my lunch." Albert
explained giving Jones a deceptive pained look of despair. "Look I'll
pay for your damned lunch, let's get this show on the road? I say
waitress!? Waitress! The bill chop chop." Asserted the glowering
executive peevishly as he pulled out his bulging, Moroccan leather
wallet. "Thank you very much sir, you're just too kind. Here's the
waitress now with the bill, would you like a cup of coffee there's a
spare cup? It's the least I can do to repay you for your generosity."
Grovelled Albert looking at his angry, reluctant benefactor. "Haven't
time for coffee." Snapped D'Arcy. "Cigar then?" Cringed Albert,
adopting a Uriah Heap like parody. "Don't smoke? Hell? Twenty seven
pounds." Howled Bart as he slammed three ten-pound notes down in front
of the waitress. "Keep the change." Beamed Albert chuckling inwardly.
"Thank you very much sir? Oh sir I nearly forgot to give you your
parcel." She replied with a pert sly wink as she passed the package to
the smiling disabled man in the wheelchair.
D'Arcy Jones began pushing Albert towards the car park. Albert having
first put the brakes of the chair half on. He'd done this with an
impish grin on his face? quite accidentally of course.
Rainwater soaked Jones's Armani clad body as he pushed Albert Handyside
towards the rusting Skoda. He stopped the chair and looked at the
silver and gold Gucci watch on his steaming wrist. It was two fifteen
on a miserable sodden wet afternoon in February. Nigel's going to have
my testicles for this he thought as he pushed the disabled mans
wheelchair the last few yards. Bart's mind was working like a cash
register as he reckoned up what the last seventy-five minutes had cost
him. Thirty quid for a meal he'd never eaten. More than likely five
hundred pounds in commission, if this deal didn't go through. If as it
seemed most likely the deal should go down the pan. Nigel would change
Bart's job description to that of a first year office junior. If he
lost the job, he lost the car, and all the other impedimenta of a
successful son of monetarism. This was certainly working out as the
most expensive parking fee he'd ever had to pay.
At last they reached the Skoda. Steam was rising from Bart, giving him
the appearance of a dray horse that had just completed the Grand
National Course in record time.
"I'm sorry sir you'll have to lift me in. You know my helper's not
here." Said the disabled man.
"Oh no you must weigh a ton, that's how it felt pushing you here."
Lamented Jones. However he took the proffered key from Albert, opened
the door of the old car and lifted the disabled driver, then deposited
him with a struggle behind the driving wheel of the Skoda.
"Thank you very much sir, would you fold my chair please, and stow it
there in the back? You're a gent, thank you sir." Said the Skoda
driver. "There I've stowed your chair, would you move your damned car
now if you please? Come on chop chop." Groaned the irritable Bart. "One
more thing sir, my battery's flat would you give me a push? It's only
about three yards then we're clear. True knight of the road you are
sir." Albert entreated with a winning smile. D'Arcy Jones who by this
time was like a whipped cur began carrying out Albert's latest appeal
with a cowed sigh.
After pushing Albert's car clear D'Arcy Jones walked towards his own
car and unlocked it with his remote control switch. Before he could
climb into the vehicle the mobile phone gave out its insistent
electronic warble. He picked up the hand set and leant against the low
roof of the Carrera Albert with his window wound down once again became
privy to Bart's one sided telephone conversation.
"Yes who is it?? Oh sorry it's you ? What do you mean where the hell
have I been? ? Look I'm sorry but I've just been mugged by a cripple?
Yes! Yes, a cripple? Yes in a wheelchair? What lost the sale Look I'm
sorry Nige'? err sir? Well I can hardly be blamed? You see sir there
was this guy in a Skoda? Hello? Hello? Bastard you've hung up on
me.
After throwing his telephone into the car D'Arcy Jones drove off at
speed. The store manager walked towards Albert's car as the grinning
disabled driver gave the thumbs up sign to the departing Porche, and
shouted after Bart. "Thank you sir? Have a nice day? Bye? We must meet
again sometime for lunch."
"See your Yuppie friend's got away then." Observed Richard Lee. "He's
not a Yuppie, he says he's a Lombard." Albert answered. "What the
devil's a Lombard?" Enquired the manager." "In my book it means Lots Of
Money But A Right Dickhead" Albert answered beaming at Richard. "You
waiting for your helper then sir?" Queried Lee. "What helper? I don't
need no helper. Goodbye!" Laughed Albert as he turned the ignition key.
Whereupon the old but well-serviced Skoda started first time. As in
fact it always did.

Albert Handyside drove off and waved to the bemused Fresco Manager, who
was standing beside the reluctantly relinquished parking space
scratching his head. As he watched the old vehicle disappearing out of
the car park Richard chuckled as the words of an axiom came to mind.
This stanza seemed quite appropriate for the instance he had just
witnessed. "DON'T GET MAD GET EVEN."

by Don Passmore ?