March 1: The Perfect Spot

The pointed roof of the local Wal-Mart appears on the horizon. Like a Spring weed, the top of the roof reaches for the overcast skies as the yellow letters push their way up from the earth. As I get closer, I can see the automatic sliding glass doors followed by the parking lot full of vehicles.

When I turn off of the street and into the lot, I can see the perfect spot waiting for me. It's literally the first spot after the handicapped space across from the front door. I pass three, four, five spots to get to it. Just as I'm about to pull in, a two-door, ice-blue Honda Civic slides in front of me. Darn it.

I turn right and go up the next line of occupied spots. I'm a good seventy-five yards from the front door and that mono-toned greeter just inside when I reach the first vacant space. There are plenty of spots out here, but they're too far away. I make a few more right turns and head back down the driveway in which I first spotted the perfect space. Again, I pass three, four, five spots before running out of road forcing me to choose right or left. I choose left and left again to venture down a new line of cars.

Finally! An old lady is placing her last bag into her car which is five spots from the front. I turn on my signal and wait patiently. I wait, and wait, and wait some more. What is she doing in there? I give a polite little honk, but still nothing. I give another honk; this time a little more aggressively. Nothing. I can't wait any longer. I turn my signal off and continue on my way.

The next available space is again, still too far for me to walk. I circle around with more fervor in hopes of making it to the old lady before someone else does. I pull back into driveway just as she is pulling out of her spot. I engage my signal, wait for her to make her three-point turn, and pull in.

The spot is a little further than I would have liked, but I need the exercise. And no, I don't know why I'm out of shape.



Not listening to anything.