Let’s talk about parking lots.
If you’ve ever visited or lived in the United State, you’ll know that the parking lots are not small or quaint. They are not modest little rectangles tucked politely beside a shop. They are asphalt kingdoms. Or, if you will, barren asphalt deserts.
Because they are so large, most grocery stores and big box stores don’t expect you to walk your cart all the way back to the entrance when you’re finished. Instead, they place little metal pens throughout the lot — cart corrals — so you can return your cart without hiking across half a football field.[1] It’s convenient and thoughtful. Moreover, it’s nice.
And yet.
Some people still leave the cart sitting diagonally between parking spaces. Or worse, drifting freely like a rogue shopping vessel waiting to ding someone’s door in the next strong wind. There are also the chaotically evil who push their carts towards the far end of the lot with the intention of making the poor baggers job of retrieving them more painful.
Which brings us to what I like to call “The Shopping Cart Personality Test”.
Yes, I really do think about this kind of stuff.
The idea behind this test is simple.
There is no law requiring you to return your shopping cart. There is no fine. No enforcement. No punishment. There really isn’t even any shame, since most people are too busy with their own lives to notice or care.
Returning the cart offers no tangible reward. You gain nothing material. No one applauds you. No employee runs out and pins a medal on your chest. Maybe they should — in fact, that would be pretty sweet — but they don’t. (Yet!)
You return the cart purely because it is the right thing to do. Or… you don’t. Because you are a soulless void of a human being.
In theory, it’s the ultimate low-stakes moral decision. A tiny moment of voluntary coöperation in a society that functions only because millions of small, invisible acts like this happen every day.[2]
Now, I’m not naïve. I know life is complicated. Maybe someone has an injured knee. Maybe a mother has three screaming children strapped into car seats. Maybe it’s pouring rain and she’s already at her limit. Context matters.
But most of the time? Most of the time it’s just… laziness. Or indifference. Or that quiet little internal voice that says, “Eh, someone else will handle it.” Or pure evil. It always could be that.
And that voice is interesting. Because civilization is built on people resisting that voice. We stand in line instead of cutting. We use turn signals. We say “thank you”. We don’t blast music at 2am. Well, I mean, most of us don’t, at least after we pass the university years and start to act like human beings.
These are not heroic acts. They are tiny acts of friction — small personal inconveniences that smooth life for everyone else.
Returning the cart is one of those, and maybe the best example.
Spend any time watching a US parking lot and you will start to see some distinct personality times. (Don’t be creepy.) Call it observational anthropology or parking lot sociology.
The Efficient Returner
Walks briskly. Slides the cart neatly into place. Probably folds their laundry immediately after it comes out of the dryer. In D&D terms, this is Lawful Good. The paladin of the parking lot. Order must be maintained. They might even grab other carts nearby to put in the corral.
The Strategic Parker
Leaves the cart balanced perfectly on a curb so it won’t roll. Technically not in the corral. Technically not chaos. A moral compromise artist. True Neutral, possibly leaning toward Chaotic Neutral on windy days.
The Cart Abandoner
Pushes it vaguely toward a shrub and hopes for the best. Believes entropy is someone else’s problem. This is classic Chaotic Neutral. Not malicious. Just vibing. If the cart rolls into a BMW, that’s between the universe and the BMW.
The Parent Under Siege
Operates with military precision. Loads kids, locks doors, returns cart at near-jog speed before anyone can unbuckle themselves. This is Neutral Good. Doing the right thing under pressure. Slightly frazzled. Heroic in a very tired way. The Han Solo of the parking lot: grumbling the whole time, but still saving the galaxy.
The Cart Launcher
The one who deliberately pushes the cart toward the far edge of the lot so some poor bagger has to hike across three zip codes to retrieve it. This is unapologetic Chaotic Evil. No backstory needed. Straight to alignment chart jail.
The Reluctant Returner
Starts to walk away. Stops. Sighs. Turns back. Returns it. This is Lawful Neutral. Not motivated by goodness. Motivated by an internal rulebook. “This is what one does.” Or possibly: “People might be watching me; I better do what’s right”.
I sometimes wonder: if aliens landed and wanted to understand human society, would they study our laws? Our constitutions? Our grand speeches? Or would they just sit in a Walmart parking lot for an afternoon?
Here’s what I think it really shows. Not whether someone is good or bad or diabolical. That’s too dramatic.
It shows whether a person sees themselves as part of a shared system. I’m tempted to put this in political terms, but I’ll resist!
When you return the cart, you are acknowledging that:
You’re saying, in a quiet, boring, utterly unglamorous way, “I am part of this.”
And when you don’t return it? Maybe you’re tired. Maybe you’re rushed. Maybe you just don’t care. Maybe you’re a nihilistic asshole. But at the least in that moment, you’re opting out of the shared effort.
The funny thing is, this “test” only works because it’s trivial.
If returning the cart required a 10-minute walk back to the store entrance, it wouldn’t mean much. That would be a serious burden. But when the corral is ten steps away? Then it becomes revealing.
It’s like holding a door open for someone behind you. The cost is minimal. The signal is large. And I find that fascinating.
In Japan this isn’t really a thing, but when I was in the US and when I visit now, I always return my cart. Not because I’m a saint. Nor because I want moral points. (Tho if someone up there is keeping score, I won’t refuse.) But because I like living in a world where people return their carts.
And the only way to get that world is to be one of those people.
Small things, right? I’d prefer a world where people are nice, so I’ll be nice. To lead by example? I don’t know. In Zen, we do zazen simply to do zazen, not with the expectation of enlightenment. I kind of think the same way here.
So now I’m curious. (Be honest.) When no one is watching… Do you return the cart?
| David is an American teacher and translator lost in Japan, trying to capture the beauty of this country one photo at a time and searching for the perfect haiku. He blogs here and at laspina.org. Write him on Bluesky. |
