Is it a bird? Is it a plane? no, it's Badgeman! He prowls the streets and car parks of the nation, confronting the selfish and doling out justice (well, cutting comments). His true identity is a closely guarded secret. He is in no way an alter ego of the author of this piece, and if you push me on that question my denials will only grow firmer and more hysterical.
It might seem linguistically illogical, but it is not a national law in this country that the disabled have a right to park in disabled spaces. Locally, there are plenty of laws. But in lots of cases the badged parking space is a mere courtesy. Which is a problem, given that rather a lot of people only practice courtesy intermittently, if at all. Some people are huge fans of courtesy, but only when it is done to them (for example, those people whom, when you kindly hold a door for an elderly lady or harrassed new father with a triplet buggy, walk through in droves, as if being a doorman is your job. Except, if being a doorman actually was your job, at least some of them might acknowledge you or even hand over a tip).
Badgeman has a very similar disability to myself. This is purely a coincidence. Some time ago, upon noticing that many people were disrespecting the badge, he set out on a mission to challenge them, and sometimes harangue and insult them until they cried.
So, if you are 'just nipping in for a paper', or you 'didn't see the sign' (tip: the disabled spaces are the ones right outside the door of the supermarket. That's where they need to be so that's where they are. It'd be no use if they were half a mile away in parking zone Y) then watch out. That unassuming person with an old-fashioned walking stick might not be as unassuming as you think (That's if you even spot him, given that your eyesight is so poor that you can't see a great big bloody yellow badge sign on the floor, or you are so desperate to buy your daily Mail that you are heading for the paper section with blinkered, laser guided efficiency). He could well be Badgeman, and will stop at little to make your life a misery. He spends his time in a world of pain, and may invite you to join him.
It might seem linguistically illogical, but it is not a national law in this country that the disabled have a right to park in disabled spaces. Locally, there are plenty of laws. But in lots of cases the badged parking space is a mere courtesy. Which is a problem, given that rather a lot of people only practice courtesy intermittently, if at all. Some people are huge fans of courtesy, but only when it is done to them (for example, those people whom, when you kindly hold a door for an elderly lady or harrassed new father with a triplet buggy, walk through in droves, as if being a doorman is your job. Except, if being a doorman actually was your job, at least some of them might acknowledge you or even hand over a tip).
Badgeman has a very similar disability to myself. This is purely a coincidence. Some time ago, upon noticing that many people were disrespecting the badge, he set out on a mission to challenge them, and sometimes harangue and insult them until they cried.
So, if you are 'just nipping in for a paper', or you 'didn't see the sign' (tip: the disabled spaces are the ones right outside the door of the supermarket. That's where they need to be so that's where they are. It'd be no use if they were half a mile away in parking zone Y) then watch out. That unassuming person with an old-fashioned walking stick might not be as unassuming as you think (That's if you even spot him, given that your eyesight is so poor that you can't see a great big bloody yellow badge sign on the floor, or you are so desperate to buy your daily Mail that you are heading for the paper section with blinkered, laser guided efficiency). He could well be Badgeman, and will stop at little to make your life a misery. He spends his time in a world of pain, and may invite you to join him.
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