I spied a parking rage battle last night at the local giga-mall. From what I can gather, both parties darted for the same spot and then got into a bitter shouting match concerning its rightful owner. I never really understood people's compulsion for getting the closest possible spot to the door, evil weather excepted. The more crowded places get the further I park away from the morass, and I'm not talking about that catawampus muscle car park job that defines great men. The practice I'm speaking of entails pointing my mobile down an aisle and not necessarily slashing into the first available spot, but just getting into a spot. As result I many times suffer the agony of walking five extra car widths (widths, not lengths mind you). Now while this methodology may not prove, on paper, to be the most efficient, I do find myself arriving at my destination impressively faster than the lap hound who's seeking the Costanza like alpha spot. And, much like the elevator practices of our fellow man, it seems to be the one's who would most benefit from the extra leg-play that are taking their chances on yet another shell-game of life. Is it any wonder SUVs only get 4 miles to the gallon.