Carts (I call them buggies) and those who pretend to drive them. These mobile cages (I guess we should feel primal and proud since we can catch our bun length wieners and keep them corralled while simultaneously tracking down some elusive corn chips...but I digress...) have no blinkers, breaks and thank Heaven no horns but each dreaded trip yields a fender bender of some sorts for me.
In my mind there are a couple of simple rules or courtesies when driving a buggy:
- Stop at intersections looking both ways before venturing out into "traffic"
- Stay to the right except to pass. Please do so with a little bit of speed. I don't need to hear a sonic boom as you reach mach III, but don't match my speed attempting to see if what I've trapped in my buggy is better that yours.
- Be aware of other "drivers". They are hunting too and have just as much right to snag that taco meat mix packet as you do. There are forty others on the shelf cowering like helpless serfs. Grab a hostage and move one.
- If you clip someone, say "I'm sorry" and head to new ground. Don't glower. Hunt elsewhere.
I go very early in the morning to reduce my risk of Howler monkey carts. These have screeching animals hanging off the side that can clear shelves with a single swipe of surprisingly long arms while howling that they are hungry. They usually appear after all the good cartoons are off. Then there are the Zombie carts, whose drivers saunter carelessly down the middle of the aisle reading all labels and "Special buy" shelf tags....aloud. Be careful because these drivers have the tendency to jump from command central and snatch from either side of aisle. My greatest nemesis is the motorized cart. Can you hear my teeth grinding together? Well they are and I must take pause to spit out some of my tooth enamel..... Now. THESE are especially treacherous. Why? Because the drivers always have this little impish "Too Bad for you" or "Why did you do that?" smile as they cut you off going around corners or smoosh your toes in order to beat you to the deli. They are the most reckless and selfish of all buggies.
My fender bender included a motorized cart and was made worse by the fact that I myself had that buggy with a prosthetic wheel. It was round and LOOKED like the others, but it was in fact 3/4 of an inch shorter, devoid of any spinning capabilities. I must essentially pick the bloomin thing up and carry it around the corners. While I am doing this I hear that fretful hum and sure enough here come "Esmeralda" with her two packs of Jewish Rye (buy one get one according to the shelf tag she read for twenty minutes) and a can of juice concentrate. I am hauling my loaded clunker as quickly as possible but JUST as I get what I perceive as out of her way, she clips my heel, causing me to stumble into a display of 400 count napkins. She pauses, gives me that smile with a little shrug and speeds off. I let her go and wish for that hornet filled soda can. Maybe I'd rather shake it and share it with Esmeralda.
I make the best of it and head to check out. Wonder of wonders, GUESS who is in front of me? You got it. But I think "Hey, it's almost over." Nope. She has conveniently forgotten about twenty items and the poor checkout clerk is paging at least two people from every department to finish up Essi's order. I wait and am overly nice to the checkout girl when she finally gets to me. I pull my bounty up to the register, give her my coupons AND my bonus card (makes the hunt more valuable this way. Pop tarts are dangerous but so worth it on Double day) and am all but skipping toward my car singing Roger Daltrey's "Free me". I want to go home. I want a band aid for my skinned heel.
Then I see it. Karma in its GRANDEST most glaring form. Esmeralda is sitting in the crosswalk. Her battery died. Go ahead, enjoy it with me. Make that face..... hee hee.
Thanks for sharing a minute or two with me. Until next time, I bid adieu.
