Some marginally-connective thoughts on handicapped parking:

1. When I was 16, I got my first car, partially paid for with money I earned dipping ice cream. My Dad subsidized the rest, which, by his reckoning, meant HE got to select the automobile. Visions of a GTO danced into the trash heap of my imagination like empty tubes of teen acne cream.

The car was an Oldsmobile Dynamic 88. If the similar and better-known Delta 88 was "the official pace care of the elderly," the Dynamic 88 was the next step in geriatric travel and sold only to customers reliably expected to die within four months — meaning the car would have low mileage and was ripe for resale to people like my Dad, who could then pass it on to his kid in a beneficent gesture that somehow ended up seeming like punishment.

2. It was painted the despairing color of a Band-Aid.

3. I figured, "If I'm gonna drive around in an Old Person-Mobile, that should include all privileges thereof," and I started pulling into handicapped spaces even though at that age I could easily have out-sprinted the bulls at Pamplona. I'm pleased to announce that, very rapidly, my theretofore-dormant senses of guilt and shame kicked in, and that ended that.

4. This all came to mind whilst researching how parking tickets work in New London — and learned the New London Parking Authority headquarters is in the Water Street Parking Garage where, as an employee of The Day, I have a subscription to park! Coincidence!

5. There are blatant and plentiful parking violations WITHIN the Water Street Parking Garage, most notable at the midpoint where there are two clearly designated handicapped spaces next to the main Atlantic Street egress. During prime tourist season — Memorial Day through Labor Day — those two spots are often taken by vehicles with no discernible indications the drivers are handicapped: no hanging blue cards, license plate designations or official window stickers. Probably folks who can't be inconvenienced to carry their golf clubs from the upper levels as they grab the ferry to Rich Person Island.

6. Over summer, by my casual count — I'm here five days a week and often don't park in the garage — I noted 39 handicapped-parking violations in the garage. Some of those cars sat there for days.

7. I have cell-phone photos.

8. Not once did I see a ticket on any of these cars or, indeed, any parking officers peering suspiciously and brandishing ticketing pads. In a city strapped for cash, some fat tourist dollars might help.

9. I now carry cans of Dynamic 88-sanctioned spray paint at all times. Woe to the scofflaws who return from Nantucket and learns their illegally parked Lexus is now the color of a Band-Aid.