As I was trying to wedge my little VW into half a parking space with the word COMPACT painted in it, I'm guessing that here in Miami it means anything smaller than the full-sized Hummer.
On my left, filling every inch of width between the yellow lines, was a full-sized Land Rover. It was suitably ostentatious, with a name plate on the back that indicated this was no run of the mill, ordinary Land Rover, but an exclusive, distinguished, limited edition Westminster, or Buckminster or some other la-di-da-minster varient.

I was really impressed, and did my best to impress the edge of my driver's side door into their passenger door.

On the other side, taking up two spaces, straddling that little yellow bumper with the words "Compact Only" was some flare-sided pick-em-up truck.

Once I squeezed out, and got into the book store, I had a short dialogue with the clerk, explaining why I didn't think that buying a discount card was any deal. He kept telling me that it would pay for itself in no time. I kept telling him that it was the principle of paying to get a discount that annoyed me, and I didn't care how fast it paid for itself, I wanted them to give me an incentive, not make me pay for it. He didn't get it, he just kept shaking his head and telling me it pays for itself.

No. It doesn't. I pay for it. Give it to me free, and then it'll be worth it.

The woman behind me was sighing in exasperation with my bull-headedness, so I slouched off, and tried to chip the paint on the Range Rover again as I crawled into my tiny, little, used, economical car.

I clearly don't belong here.