Americans are notorious for wanting more. More meat in their sandwiches, more legroom around their airplane seats, more interest on their investments. This holiday season, as it seems I have gone to wage daily battles on striped fields of asphalt all around town, I feel compelled to champion the cause for a new “more.” I want to see more space in parking lots. I want to see a few more inches between the yellow or white, diagonal or precisely perpendicular, painted lines.

When I was young, it seemed that parking spaces, like the lots they inhabited, were in a never-ending state of expansion. Suburban malls were huge, and the parking lots that surrounded them, like protective moats around castles, were spacious beyond belief. They lacked topographical landmarks and the key challenge they posed was remembering where you parked your car. As a city-dweller, the stores I visit more frequently these days are attached to very small parking lots, and the spaces between the lines at these lots have gotten smaller and smaller.

To some extent, I can understand the perspective of the merchants. They want to get as many customers in their lots as possible. On the other hand, the lanes for navigating these strip mall lots are so narrow they have become a fertile ground for minor accidents and major anxiety. It is very hard to swing a car door open to store something you’d rather not put in your trunk when your car is only 8 inches from that sleek new Infinity (by its I SUE U vanity plates, probably owned by a lawyer) and not fret your brains out.

As an owner of a new car, now dealing with frenetic and dazed Christmas shoppers, my parking lot anxiety has been running at elevated levels. But, I had a little unexpected relief the other day.

I cruised into a mini-mall where they have an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet, a frequently visited Dollar Tree, an express post office (and I use the term “express” paradoxically) and Foremost, one of my favorite places to pick up an everyday wine (see blog post from November 21, 2011).

As the holidays approach, I seem to be visiting my neighborhood liquor store often. The sheer chaos at the “express” post office alone could understandably drive me to drink. Even though I try planning my trips at less congested times, the lot always seems to be crowded, and I dread doing the parking lot squeeze dance, the routine where I will only open the car door just enough to squeeze my body out.

Anyway, I parked easily enough just outside of Foremost. The bigger crowds at the mall were relaying their shipping emergency stories to uninterested clerks at the post office and parked at the other side of the lot. I slowly paced the aisles looking for Day-glo orange “reduced” stickers on some favorite varietals, made my purchase then watched them box my bottles for me.

“Would you like help out to your car?” the owner or manager asked. I nodded and he instructed one of his stock boys to follow me.

A few steps from my car, I engaged my keyless entry device. Without having a chance to call out a warning to be careful not to hit the red SUV parked alongside, Pedro just swung the back door of my silver Jetta open and placed my box on the floor.

Is this a Christmas miracle or something? There was plenty of room in this lot to open a door and actually load my car with goodies.

Sometimes, an extra few inches is no small thing.