The Costco Parking Lot Has a Power Structure and I'm Not in It

There's a hierarchy out there and nobody handed me the rulebook.

At the top: the guy in the Escalade who's been idling near the cart return for eleven minutes waiting for a spot six feet closer to the door. Below him, the retired couple in the matching visors who somehow always materialize in front of the flatbed the moment you reach for it. Then there's the mom in the white Pilot who makes eye contact, waves you forward, and then takes the spot anyway. Classic move. Respect, honestly.

I'm somewhere near the bottom. I circle the outer ring in the Odyssey, tell myself it's good cardio, and try to look like I chose this. I didn't choose this. I have been lapped by a man pushing a cart with a broken wheel and a 48-pack of paper towels.

Last Saturday I finally got a front-row spot. Just sat in it for a second. Didn't go in right away. Just sat there and felt like I'd won something. Lisa asked what I was doing. I said, "Appreciating it." She did not appreciate that.

The minivan and I will be back next weekend. Outer ring, probably.