I have started taking my trips to the grocery store a couple of hours after most people eat dinner in order to avoid the majority of shoppers. I like to get in and get out as fast as possible, so I was in a hurry tonight just like any other time.
Arriving at the store, I was pleased to see plenty of parking. I picked a space with an empty spot between my car and the cart return (enough space to avoid most idiots from hitting my car with a cart, but close enough to quickly return my cart there and take off) and headed inside. I proceeded with my usual ritual of picking the absolute worst possible cart with my first guess and pushed it toward the first item: cat litter.
The left rear wheel decided to exhibit a significantly varying level of camber and toe (read: excessive wobble). Lifting lightly didn’t help. Putting the 28lb container of cat litter in the cart didn’t help. At times, the wheel was simply scraping along the floor and I was having to push so hard on one side that my body was twisting half sideways. I’m sure I looked like a professional shopper. Kids, don’t try this at home.
After checking the wheel and finding the joint and not the nut to be the problem, I decided to just keep going with my shopping rush. I didn’t have a paper clip or rubber band on me, so I couldn’t MacGyver it into working condition. I tried to convince myself that this would make the shopping experience more interesting, but I only succeeded in imagining a line of people laughing at how pathetic I looked.
Occasionally having to pick up the cart to turn it, I finished shopping relatively quickly. I even got to the only checkout stand that was open for more than 12 items just as the only person ahead of me was paying. The girl scanning the items was pretty quick and we exchanged the “I acknowledge that you are a human and in my presence” small talk that is socially necessary. I pushed my cart out to my car, loaded the items into my trunk, said goodbye to the beastly cart as I shoved it into the cart return, dooming the next patron (since all grocery stores are required by law to let their carts turn to complete crap and continue offering them to customers).
The trip home was short and uneventful and I was able to unpack the groceries with minimal bag-chewing by my two cats. And then I noticed a problem: I bought bratwursts… and hamburger buns. Damn! While I had been battling the shopping cart, the witch of shopping misfortune had put a curse on me and I ended up with the wrong kind of buns. I thought she would surely be busy dooming a guy who was buying pants with a 32″ waist and not trying them on, assuming that 32 inches is 32 inches and not sometimes 34 as clothes like to be, but the witch was ready for me.
Next time I’ll get you, witch, next time! *shakes fist*
Ian,
I like this little story. A good example of writing a short essay.
And it had a real punch line — especially for me who used to fit into size 29 waist pants. Ah, so many years since 32 was even a dream!
Well, at least I don’t have to say “pouch” in large boldface.
Robert