Airport Lots

Me stupid. Let’s just get that right out of the way.

Last week I had the pleasure of parking at the airport Economy Lot.

First off, nice. Economy Lot. They have to point out that it’s the cheap-ass lot. They can’t call it the Normal Lot or the Rational Lot. No. It’s the Cheap Fuckface Lot.

I parked in 3K which I figured I’d remember because that’s essentially KKK. I’m not proud of it, and sue me, fuckers, but if I can associate my spot with something horrible, I’ll remember. From now on, I park in the BJ lot. Nobody forgets they parked in Blowjob.

This got me thinking. Instead of naming the various spots stuff like AA144 or something, why not pick something memorable? Yes, they do shit like Cowboy Lot and Fish Lot, but those things aren’t distinct enough. They all sort of blend into a generic whatever. If the Cowboy Lot had a picture of a topless cowboy using a branding iron on his naked torso to brand the word “Parking” into his flesh, then I’d remember.

Yes, people will complain and be pissed. But all you have to say is, “Sir, Ma’am. I understand it’s shocking. It’s meant to be. We’ve discovered that outrage lights up parts of the human brain associated with memory. I know you’re mad now, but I promise, you’ll remember that you parked in the 14-Year-Old Girl Whose Mom Let Her Get Implants Lot.”

Some will likely be outraged, but I promise you that if I’d parked in the Uncle Who Tells Inappropriate And Unsexy Sex Stories Lot, I’d remember.

If my car spent two weeks in the Mayonnaise With Toenails Blended In Lot, it would be no problem when I returned from my vacation, sunburned and memory-wiped by tropical drinks.

When I’m a business man, I have a thousand details to remember. 102Q is going to require valuable memory space I just can’t spare. But Giant Saggy Breasts That Are Sickening AND Alluring Lot? That saves your precious memory to worry about that presentation, practice it in your mind, and seal the deal.

You’re welcome, the World. All I ask in return for this brilliant innovation is that you let me park in the Botched, Infected Belly Button Ring Lot, which is the closest to them airport doors.