Pet Peeves, Part 2: The Concrete Labyrinth

You know what’s more stressful than it has any right to be? A grocery store parking lot at 5:30 PM on a Tuesday.

I want to meet the person who designs these lots. I really do. Because I don’t think they’re an architect — I think they’re a social scientist conducting an experiment to see how fast a civilized human will turn into a road-rage villain over a spot near the entrance.

The Spaces Are Built for Bicycles

Why are the spaces so small? I drive a Honda Civic, not a Segway. I pulled into a spot the other day and couldn’t open my door. I was literally trapped in my own car. I had to sit there and wait for the person next to me to finish their shopping.

I learned their entire personality through their bumper stickers while I waited. “Oh, you’re a ‘Dog Mom’ who ‘Coexists’? Cool. I’m a ‘Guy Who Needs To Pee’ who is ‘Losing His Mind.’”

One-Way Arrows Are Apparently Suggestions

Every parking lot has those arrows painted on the ground telling you which direction to drive. I follow them. I’m a rule-follower. I drive the correct way, respecting the laws of physics and common decency.

And then here comes a Suburban doing forty miles an hour the wrong way, straight at me.

I honk, and the driver looks at me like I’m the problem. She gives me that look — you know the look — the “I have three kids and a lukewarm latte, I will end you” stare.

I just backed up. I’m not dying over a spot near the organic kale.

Blind Corners and Concrete Pillars

Then there are the blind corners. You’re inching out of your row, praying to whatever deity handles fender benders, and you realize the architect put a six-foot-tall concrete pillar right at the edge of the turn.

Why is that there? Is it structural? Is it load-bearing? Or is it just there to make absolutely sure I can’t see the Tesla that’s about to take off my front bumper?

You end up doing that thing where you creep forward an inch at a time, craning your neck around the pillar like you’re defusing a bomb. And every single time, the car that appears is going way too fast because — see above — the arrows are just suggestions.

Speed Bumps: A Spectrum

Some speed bumps are gentle little reminders. A polite nudge. “Hey, maybe slow down a touch.”

Others are mountain ranges.

I hit one the other day and I’m pretty sure my car’s soul left its body. I heard a sound from my undercarriage that I can only describe as “expensive.”

Why are we launching cars into low-earth orbit in front of a Target? Is the cart return really that dangerous? Which brings me to…

The Shopping Cart Situation

Cart returns. There are two for the entire lot, and they’re located in different zip codes. So people just leave their carts wherever they please. Right in the middle of a perfectly good parking spot.

You’ve all experienced this. You see that one open spot from three rows away. Your heart soars. You think, “Today is my day. The universe loves me.” You turn the corner, and there it is: a lone shopping cart sitting dead center, mocking you.

It’s not even a full-sized cart. It’s one of those little ones. Just standing there like a ghost, guarding a kingdom of asphalt. Refusing to move. Daring you to get out and deal with it while three cars stack up behind you.

Parking Lots Are Purgatory

I’m convinced of it. You enter, you lose your dignity, you scrape your rims on a curb that’s unnecessarily high, and then — if you’re lucky — you spend twenty minutes trying to find the exit because the signs are hidden behind a decorative hedge.

I don’t want a “luxury shopping experience.” I don’t need ambient lighting in the parking garage. I want a parking lot where I don’t feel like I’m playing a high-stakes game of Tetris with my insurance premium on the line.

Is that too much to ask?

Tell me your parking lot horror stories in the comments. I know you have them. We all have them.