As I'm sure you're aware, I have a day job.
In fact, I work at a very big place. A Very Big Place. A place even bigger than the many big places it supports. The biggest Very Big Place.
Which is fine. In fact, more than fine, since it's a pretty dynamic spot with lots of interesting people and a really cool mission that keeps challenging us. So, in this case, bigger is better.
But with bigger comes a bit of a reality check most of us have to start cashing roughly between the hours of 7 and 8 am each working day. It's the reality that gets mentioned first off when my occupation comes up in conversation, which means it has grown to somewhat legendary status.
You know, there's Sasquatch. There's the Yetis. And there is a parking spot near the door of The Very Big Place.
The reality is that, unless you're a park ranger at the Grand Canyon or something similar, working at Very Big Places typically mean there are lots of people there. And since Northwest Arkansas' mass transit system isn't nearly "mass" enough, lots of people have to drive. Which means those cars have to be stored somewhere. Like ... a parking lot.
You can see where this is going. But not very well during the summer, because the heat waves rising off the asphalt tend to obscure the view of your gate.
Now, a comment here: I'm not sure exactly when we as a nation became so averse to walking? Our ancestors walked halfway across the country for opportunity, and we whine about having to walk a few yards for an actual job.
I've seen grown men (and may actually have been among) make so many laps of a mall parking lot you'd think a pit crew was going to put on four new tires and tell them to hurry up because they're in second. All when they could have parked, walked a few feet and been comfortably ensconced on a bench, reading ball scores on their phone while their wives shopped for shoes.
But the lengths to which we'll go to avoid going any particular length from our car has become something of an obsession. One many of us have to put aside every work day.
And since one of the best ways to approach work is to dedicate yourself to learning something new every day, it's important to capture the lessons you can learn from parking at the Very Big Place.
For instance, you learn that hope is one of the most beautiful and important of human emotions. And that it's often fleeting and in vain.
"Look, I see a spot! It's right there, down this aisle! It's right ... where that very small car has parked far enough forward that you think there's a spot, but ... no. But that's OK. I'll just follow this guy who's walking out to his vehicle up and down four or five aisles because he's ... getting something out of the back seat and heading back in."
Past a certain point in time, trying to find a parking place close to the gateway or front door of The Very Big Place is sort of like looking for Easter eggs. On the day after the Easter egg hunt. I mean, it's possible somebody left the golden one out there, but not very likely.
You also learn to travel light, because whatever you bring with you, you may be "bringing" a long, long way. Seriously, people, carrying that gym bag across the parking lot is a workout in and of itself. And I've gone on vacation for a week with a smaller bag than you're using to bring in your lunch.
You learn that five minutes late from the house translates to 15 minutes of walking time. You learn not to get dizzy (almost) while zigging and zagging between cars on your way to the crosswalk. You learn that, at the end of the day, your dad was right when he used to say, "this all works so much better when everyone lets one person out."
And you learn the ability to conflate a rather minor annoyance into a major issue probably isn't the best way to spend your time. Even if you have a few minutes. Say, when you're walking across a parking lot.
Commentary on 09/23/2016