Parking Lot Race

A 30 second delay in reaching the parking lot after a public event is equal to approximately 10 minutes more time spent trying to leave the parking lot. This is a principle near and dear to the hearts of most men, but the majority of women seem to be totally oblivious. (I said majority, so lay off!) This is most clearly demonstrated by contrasting the behavior of the crowd after a general session of general conference to the behavior of the crowd after a priesthood session.

After a general session, the picture is one of hundreds of women chatting away with their husbands and sons standing nearby, keys in hand, nervously shooting glances at the exit. Their mouths are going a mile-a-minute, but their legs aren't moving.

"Just let me say hi to Sister So-and-So," they say. But the men aren't fooled. Say hi? When has she ever just said hi? It will turn into, at the least, a minute long gab fest which equates to about 20 extra minutes of battling it out in the parking lot.

The post-priesthood session crowd is completely different (with the exception of a few lingering socialites that in some ways resemble women.) The rush to the parking lot begins before the session even starts. Cars are backed into the stall so there is no need for backing up when it is time to leave. Seats closest to the exit are filled first, and everyone strategically jockeys for a position near the isle so they can leave quickly.

During the closing prayer a low rustling noise can be heard as the men shift their knees toward the doorway and test their footing on the carpet below them. The suspense builds as the benediction grows longer and longer and the brother offering the prayer speaks more and more slowly.

Like a starter pistol, the final "amen" sounds and the brethren jolt for the exits. (Some of them--the cheaters--left before the prayer. The rest of us know better.) We walk as quickly and dignified as we can, but some can't stand it and break into a trot. It takes great discipline not to jog, push, or trample geriatric high priests that get in the way. They hobble slowly down the middle of the hallway until they here a loud rumble behind them. Turning just in time to see the flow of white shirts and ties, their eyes grow wide and a shriek rises in their throats. But we nimbly dance around them, like white-water rapids around a boulder, and continue our flight to the parking lot.

Upon reaching the parking lot, we have some idea of how well we are doing. If the first engines are starting and only a trickle of men and boys are spilling out into the lot, then we know the parking lot experience won't be that bad. But horrified is the man that charges out the doors only to see a parking lot filled with white shirts and dark suit coats, lanes saturated with pedestrians and honking cars, and brake lights all the way to the exit.