Lord of the Carts

You have never seen such disregard for grocery carts as the Walmart in Roswell, GA at Christmastime. Because I regretfully didn’t have my camera, I will have to describe to you the grotesque scene:

We drive in late Saturday afternoon and see that the parking lot is very full. Frank tries to take the first spot he sees but it’s taken by a cart. Next empty spot, also blocked by a cart. And so it went, spot after spot. We finally had to settle on a space that had a cart near it and we maneuvered around the cart to get in it. Then we took the cart to use in our shopping. Honestly, it sickened me to even use the cart that was last used by a cart abandoner. But then again, we don’t fault orphans just because their parents left them.

When we came out the situation was what I can only describe as cart chaos. It was like the people had rebelled and set up their own quasi cart corrals. In some places there would be ten-twelve carts all shoved into one spot. Some people had even taken the time to create rows of discarded buggies—like they had pushed them all together. I think they thought they were doing the Walmart employee a favor! They were everywhere; on the sidewalk, under the trees, right out in the middle of the parking lanes. I saw a man out there at dusk, trying to take some of them back into the store. I bet he’s still out there. I estimate there were about 47 abandoned carts on our row alone.

I tried to get into the heads of cart abusers. And while I still think they’re despicable, I think I know what they might be thinking, “What’s one more cart? If twelve other people have put their carts here, I might as well add mine. It’s better than leaving it all by itself out in the back of the parking lot.” I challenge them instead to think, “It’s Christmastime. I’m probably gonna scarf down a crapload of cookies. I need to walk my fat ass back to the store and return my cart.”

I almost had a confrontation with a girl at Target yesterday. Frank and I were walking out of the store (yes, Frank was a good sport this weekend. He even spent hours with me at Babies R Us) and I saw a woman in her 30s unloading her cart into a sporty Mercedes. She then took the cart and did that old cart abuser trick where she propped the front wheels up onto the curb. I said to Frank, “What if that car next to hers was mine? That cart could scratch it! I’m sure she wouldn’t want to get a scratch on her little Mercedes that she paid too much for!”

“Calm down, Elsa. Just keep walking,” Frank said.

But I couldn’t. I had to stand up for my carts. For the people who corral the carts. For the cars who get scratched by the carts. For the prices that go up because of cart abuse. And for the asses that get fatter with every cart not taken back to the store (including Ms. Mercedes’).

She was already in her car trying to back out so I walked up to the car next to hers and acted like it was mine. I looked at the cart and looked at my car and made wild gestures to show that I was mad that this cart was blocking my car! I glared at her, glared at the car until Frank pulled me away and blew my cover.

My blood pressure was rising. My palms were sweaty. I was so steamed! “They make me so mad!!” I screamed.

Frank, always the sane one, just laughed and said, “Oh, you and your carts.”