The Lord of the Lot

While stuck in Charlotte Airport I was standing in the security line with many of my sweaty BO-ey brethren. The people next to me were locals, as judged first by the fact that when they were asked to remove their shoes for airport security they answered, “Ain’t got none” and the fact that the woman kept referring to her ex as “My baby’s daddy”. The real tip off came from the fact that they talked to a fellow Nas-tard about the busy airport and the insufficient allocation for storing the vehicles of local commuters.

“Parking sucks here”, one said.

The other said, “Yep, but when we need a spot we just say a prayer ‘cause the Lord always answers prayers in parking lots”.

The group then dragged their knuckles through security and proceeded to their gate.

As I thought about this more it was clear—this is one exceedingly rare instance where someone’s personal savior must have an almost unblemished track record. Certainly, the only parking lot that does not exhibit some turnover is the junk yard. If you wait long enough (with or without a prayer) you almost certainly will get a parking spot, if not the whole lot. The fundamental nature of a parking lot relies on cars coming and cars leaving; a perpetual ebb and flow. Talk about a self-fulfilling situation!

I left one part out of the previous dialogue between the three people with six first names. One of them said, “Well we found a spot right away, so we knew he was watching us”.

Yep. An omnipotent and omnipresent being can’t feed the children, stop disease, or hasten the end to war. Instead, he’s helping two dimwits with 80’s haircuts and clothes they got for free when they turned in enough cigarette proofs of purchase find a spot for their LeMans.