The other day I went grocery shopping in a very large shopping center. You wouldn’t think I could screw this up. [Insert ominous music here.] [Or perhaps circus clown music.]
This being December, the magical time of year when loving family men will ram your fucking ass off the planet with their SUVs for a parking space, I parked far away in lot “Weight Loss” so as to not battle the Christmas cheer near the entrance to the stores.
On the way into the store I saw I saw a gaggle (or a murder, perhaps) of shopping carts some distance away from the entrance. Ah ha! I thought to myself. This is where shopping carts are electronically turned off so that they can’t be stolen. How very clever of them.
I went inside and loaded my cart to the max, for I had important $1.69 Totino’s festive frozen pizzas to purchase, as well as fixings for Christmas cookie baking and rolls upon rolls of toilet paper. (To be used after consuming cookies. And perhaps during.) Not once during my excursion did I:
- Punch anyone
- Yell at anyone who hit me with a shopping cart
- Yell at anyone who hit me with their elbow
- Yell at anyone who hit me with a giant roll of wrapping paper
- Yell at anyone who loudly told stupid stories involving their naked neighbor and the police on their cell phones
- Set fire to the store because they did not have confectioner’s sugar
Chuffed with my saintliness, I be-bopped outside with my overflowing shopping cart.
And stopped dead.
You might imagine where.
Yes, my shopping cart had stopped in solidarity with its brethren in the graveyard gaggle of abandoned carts.
Now, this crisis could have been averted. I saw the cart clutch of broken dreams on the way in. I even knew WHY the carts had magically stopped. But, no. No, no, no. My brain, perhaps full of gift, cookie, and toilet paper thoughts, did not put the simplest one and one together to make two.
- A five-foot tall person with the reach, but not the strength, of a T-rex
- Approximately 1000 bags
- Weighting approximately 1000 pounds
- And a pack of 500 rolls of toilet paper
Let’s see here… 1000 times 1000, plus 500, carry the idiot = explosion of stupidity.
I stood there for a while, not believing my situation. Then I went through the six stages of Christmas shopping grief.
Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! I will PUSH. THIS. CART! “Screeeeeeeeeeeechhhhhhhhhhh!” says the cart as it moves one inch. I WILL MOVE IT WITH MY MIGHTY SHRIMP POWER! GGGAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! “Schrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeecchchchch!” The cart moves another half inch. Repeat until…
No! Ha ha ha but of course I am not stuck here with $200 of melting groceries, alone, with no possible way short of Scotty beaming me up to transport them to my car, which is located in Lot Bumfuck because I’m a super smart person! I’ma just casually lean against my cart and cry now, Thank you. Yes, little girl. Avert your eyes. This is too much shame for your hopeful young soul to take in.
Dudebro walks by and watches me try to push the cart. He says, “Ha! All the carts stop here!” I scream, “That’s so fucking helpful, asshole!” I was full of the holiday spirit. What, you haven’t heard of the Celebration of Telling Shitheads What You Really Think of Them?
FUCK GOOBER SHITBUCKET ASSCLOWN DAMN YOU STUPID STUPID STUPID CART WHY WON’T YOU FUCKING MOVE I HATE YOU AND ALL YOUR CART BRETHREN I HOPE YOU ALL ARE SENT TO THE DEPTHS OF HELL WHERE YOU WILL BURN IN PLASTIC TORMENT FOR A BILLION GAGILLION YEARS AND ALSO ONLY PEOPLE WITH SCABIES WILL TOUCH YOU!
“Hi honey. How are you? I am great. Listen, there’s a thing, though. I’m stuck with a million dollars of our hard-earned money’s worth of holiday cookie fixins too far from the store to get help and too far from the car to come home with it. Yes, I am a genius, thank you for saying so. I’m pretty, too. I SAID I’M PRETTY, OKAY?! Anyhoo, no, don’t drive down here yet, I will solve this thing. Okay. No, you shouldn’t worry about me. Nope, I’m not laughing about this yet. Nope, you’re not funny. I love you, too, I think. Bye.”
BEG PASSERBY FOR MERCY:
“Hi! Excuse me, Madam, can you help me? Nope, I’m not crazy. I know you thought you saw me kicking and abusing my shopping cart a moment ago, but that wasn’t me. That was a different redheaded T-rex. Can you please help me? Please? No, I said I’m NOT crazy. DO I LOOK CRAZY?”
After several minutes of trying to get persons to help me, two nice ladies finally agreed to go into the store and ask for help on my behalf. About five minutes later, a gawky teenage young man came out to rescue me with this Clicker of Salvation, praise be Baby Jesus. He walked me to my car (“he” as in the teenager, not Baby Jesus. Baby deities can’t walk, unless it’s on water), helped me load my stuff, and smiled when I stuffed a $5 into his hand and thanked him profusely.
What is the lesson of this story?
1. Never tell your partner that you did something so very stupid. Just… don’t.
2. Ram that goatfucker who is trying to steal your parking spot at the front of the store, because getting your Holiday Violenceâ„¢ out of the way at the beginning of your shopping trip will save you grief, a wrenched back, crippling shame, and $5.*
Happy Festive December Days, everyone!
* Miss Worded/Lucy Woodhull in no way endorses violence, so don’t call her for bail money. You should have used fake license plates.**
** Miss Worded/Lucy Woodhull in no way endorses doing illegal things like using fake license plates.***
*** Actually the point of this story was to say: The secret of having a happy holiday is shopping online while you get drunk on egg nog in your Snuggie.