Return of the Shopping Cart

I go to the grocery store infrequently as my wife does most of the shopping.  It’s part of her arduous duties of being a stay at home Mom.  In between play dates and social lunches she squeezes in 45 minutes at the high-end grocery store (sans kids) every couple of days to stock up on overpriced meat, bread that ends up stale halfway through its existence and wine that normally costs $25 but is on sale for $20, (what a fucking steal).  Quick note on that, never argue with your wife about the cost of something, because you won’t like the response.  If I decide to bitch to her that the artwork she just bought at some fancy art store was too expensive, I’m quickly met with “They had art there that was twice as much.”  Yeah, I know they have art there that’s twice as much; they have art there that costs 75% less than what we bought and it too looks like a cat defecated a box of consumed crayons onto a canvas.

Back to the grocery store.  Occasionally I got to the store to load up on the bulky and/or heavy stuff; waters, sodas, toilet paper, etc..  By the way, there’s nothing like showing up to the counter with an economy size roll of toilet paper for the hot cashier to ring up.  Does she think I have massive digestion issues that need tending to all hours of the day?  One day I’m just going to blurt out “I shit a lot, and I need this much toilet paper to get me through the day.  I’ll be back tomorrow for another round and I think I’ll throw in some baby wipes while I’m at it.”  It’s what she’s thinking; I might as well just break the ice.

So after I haul my crap to the car, I’m left with an empty shopping cart.  I don’t know why but people have some sort of mental block on quick, menial tasks like taking the shopping cart back to its proper destination.  I know you just loaded your car with preservative-filled boxes of Trans fat, high calorie drinks and burger patties and you just want to get the fuck out of there, but seriously.  You can’t waddle your fat, lazy ass the 20 feet?  I think the sign they put up in every grocery store parking lot is what gets to people.  You know the one, “Please help us keep costs down by returning your shopping cart here.”  It’s like a challenge to the customers.  “Oh yeah?  How about I just prop it up on the curb next to my car, or better yet, leave it alongside my car and the guy’s car next to me, who now stands a 50% chance of having it eventually roll into his Porsche.”  As if returning your cart saves the store any money anyway.  Really?  So if we all band together to put our carts where they belong, you don’t have to employ the retarded kid whose Mom thought smoking meth while pregnant had its advantages?  I don’t need to be guilted into returning the cart, and neither should anyone else.  It’s just the right thing to do.  I don’t need the picture of the baby polar bears in my hotel bathroom either, pleading for me to conserve water by reusing my towel, or face the fact of knowing I single handedly killed their Mom and made them orphans like the hunter in Bambi.  Fuck that though, I paid $300 for this room, I’m going to destroy Antarctica by the time my visit’s over.

Just return your shopping cart.  That’s all I’m saying.

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4 Responses to Return of the Shopping Cart

  1. E Nutz says:

    Haha. I always tell the cashier the TP is for my dog just to fuck with them.

  2. Jenera says:

    I used to work retail and your TP story reminds me of a time a man came through my line shortly before closing with fancy underwear, large box of condoms, and candy (i think). I don’t remember now why but there was a delay where I needed change, price check, or something. Anyway, he was so rude and in such a hurry and all I could think of was that I hoped the chick was worth it if he was gonna be a royal ass to me because I couldn’t get his condoms rung up in 2.2 seconds.

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