The disabled parking placard came, and I used it immediately for a trip to the bank, despite my noble plan of using it only when needed, in order to let the truly needy park. But the truly needy so often appear to be great big fat people in SUVs who walk around without trouble. Maybe their mom is diabetic or something and they figure, if I have to put up with her complaining all the time, at least I deserve this parking.
I drove to the store, and the disabled parking space right next to the entry was taken by one of the aforementioned SUVs, so I parked a fur piece down. In the store, after I got those heavy milk, the heavy fruits, and heavy eggs and meat, I decided I would have to ask permission to take the cart to my car. It's not like one of those supermarkets where everyone pushes a cart to their car, it's small. Even the carts are small, and I assumed it was against the rules to take one out of the market, since I had never done it. I asked the clerk for permission, and she said oh sure, as if it were nothing. This is the dramatic and ingenious solution to the problem of me struggling to carry those heavy bags through the lot without dropping them or falling. It was only one the way back with the cart that I saw two other carts returned up against the wall. People must do it all the time. Silly me, carrying forward a non-disabled habit and practice into my disabled experience: Must ... carry ... bags!
Left grip is 35 pounds (31, 32, 35), right grip is 76 pounds (75, 76, 76), left leg balance is 9.03 seconds, and inhale volume is 4400 mL.