Every single car journey, the same battle: who gets the front seat. You and your brother race to the door, call "shotgun," argue about who called it first, who sat there last time, who's taller, who deserves it more. Today you got there first, claimed it loudly — and now your brother is sulking in the back, and your dad is rubbing his forehead before you've even left the driveway. You won. But the win feels weirdly thin, and the whole car is now in a bad mood because of a seat for a twenty-minute drive.