Next time you’re at the grocery store, look around. Who’s driving the shopping cart?
I noticed this recently on a grocery excursion with Cowboy Fan. He latched onto that cart like it was a TV remote, and I was never able to steer its wobbly wheels or touch its germy plastic handle again.
The cart was never where I thought it should be. I’d look around and discover he was parked 20 feet away. Or he hadn’t come down the aisle—too crowded. Sometimes he parked right in front of the product I needed to peruse. “Uh…could you move? I need to reach in that shelf.”
Then the cart would go 20 feet away.
I tried. I tried to regain control. If I sent him on an errand…”Sweetie, go over to the next aisle and pick up a box of that awful bran cereal that tastes like carpet fuzz while I pick out cans of soup.”
He’d take the shopping cart with him. And NEVER come back. I’d have to shuffle over to Aisle 8 with soup cans tucked under my arms and chin. He’d be standing there comparing the nutritional listing of wheat mulch goop to rice bits goop.
I came up with a plan. When we reached the milk case, I strategically mentioned. “Why don’t you pick out some chips?” There are about 50 feet of chip choices. That would keep him busy, and I could dash through the store spiking groceries into the basket —right in front of me. “Leave the basket,” I reminded him, and he walked away with the enthusiasm of a kid headed to the principal’s office.
My victory was short-lived. He found me over in the health and beauty section. I saw him coming and could have made it to the check out if they hadn’t stocked my Consumer-Report-Says-It’s-The-Best-For-The-Money toothpaste on the bottom shelf.
I snagged a tube and when I arose, I came up through his arms. He’d locked onto the cart. I was caught in the middle.
He drove ol’ Betsy (I’m sure he’d named it by now) through the check out, to the car, and to the cart corral where they probably had a fond good-bye.
I didn’t see it. I was in the car waiting for him to drive us home.