by Pa Rock
I used to date a beautiful young lady (Hi, Susan!) who would drive her little sports car around the Wal-Mart parking lot for thirty minutes looking for the absolute closest-to-the-door parking spot that she could find. Never mind that she could have been in the store and out in the time it took her to find that exceptional spot, and don't even begin to tally up the wasted gas! It was a convenience thing.
So maybe after a hard day at work, people have some sort of innate right to try avoiding a long march across the hot asphalt. But what about the lunkheads who go to my gym here in sunny Arizona? There are some shady spots at the back of the lot, which is where I always head, but some of the more fit specimens of humanity like to sit in their tricked-out trucks and big-assed SUV's with the air conditioning running while waiting on something closer to the doors to open up. And then when they finally find a spot that suits them, they amble up to the front doors toting nothing more than a gym bag - and hit the button that automatically opens the doors!
It's a gym, genius! You're not there to primp and model athletic gear - you're there to sweat! Consider that trek across the length of the parking lot to be your warm-up for the treadmill, and pulling those big doors open will limber up your arms! Anything less would be as dumb as playing golf for the exercise and then renting a cart!
I think that I may have worked for the military too long!