It's been a couple of years now, but I remember when the new Price Chopper opened closer to my home. It certainly made grocery shopping easier. One of my first visits was memorable, for me, but hopefully not for anyone else.
I remember pulling into a parking spot next to a little curb island in front of the store. On that little island perched a small cart. Price Chopper has two cart sizes not counting the electric kind for old folks, or the ride-a-long variety for the little kids, this being the smaller of the two. It always irritates me when carts aren't placed where they belong, and this one did not belong on that curb island.
I looked around for the nearest cart bay and noticed it was about as far away as the front of the store, just in an opposite direction. So, assuming someone's laziness got the better of them, I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I popped out of my car with a pep in my step. Without much thinking, my plan was to simply grab the cart handle firmly, place my foot securely on the lower bar and in one continuous motion ride the cart off the curb onto the parking lot pavement and continue into the store...like a boss.
I got this, I told myself, perhaps with a bit of pride. I'm not one of those lazy people who leave their carts wherever is convenient for them. I'm a problem solver, not a complainer, I told myself.
You ever hear someone tell a story and they use the line "and then the gravity of the situation hit me"? Insert that line here. Now. In slow motion. The firmness in which I applied my grip and foot to the cart worked against me, as gravity won out. In aeronautical terms, I think I just didn't have enough thrust.
The front of the cart was the first to bite into the pavement. While I didn't have enough thrust to succeed in my plan to scoot the cart off the curb, I had plenty of thrust to fail. I remember my whole plan changing as I started to fly over the handlebar of the cart. In an instant I switched from trying to be a boss to trying to survive with at least an ounce of dignity.
I didn't make it entirely over the handlebar because one foot was securely anchored to the cart to provide thrust, inadequate as it was. That left the other leg free to swing and crash mid-shin into the cart's crossbar.
My momentum was still propelling me over the cart when my mid section hit the handlebar. Though many unintelligible thoughts were running through my mind, I think I only managed to say "oooph" out loud, and that, very softly.
My circus stunt concluded with my free hand, the one not clutching the cart, being my first official contact with the pavement. First contact with the pavement usually results in some sort of road rash, as we used to call it, and this was no exception.
Though all motion had paused momentarily, I still had to dismount. The cart was on its nose, I was draped over the cart, midsection balancing on the handlebar, one hand on the pavement, one foot on the crossbar, and one shin screaming so loudly I was sure it was drawing attention all by itself.
At this point I had to gather myself lest I complete the somersault, which would have left me entirely on the pavement, on all fours with the cart over the top of me, like a futuristicly wired turtle shell, complete with my bald head peering out from underneath.
Collecting oneself at this point is a matter of dignity. With several body parts screaming out, and being right in the middle of the drive through section between the store and the parking lot, I decided to play it off as best I could. To look around to see if anyone was watching would be admitting failure. To rub anything that hurt would be admitting defeat. I picked myself up, pushed the cart into the store as if my original plan had only partially gone awry.
No, I was not a boss that day, and every time I go shopping now, I search that little curb island for a stray cart or two. It doesn't matter if I blame the ills of society for the misplacement of that cart, it's there regardless, and I have to deal with it. My mind works in such a way that when I do see that displaced cart out of the corner of my eye, Clint Eastwood theme music starts playing in the background. I turn slowly towards it, taking a slow first step. It doesn't move. I take another step. It remains motionless. I finally reach for it and help it down and into the store, but more like a cub scout helping a little old lady across the street. You know, it's only a matter of time before I'll be using one of those motorized carts when I do my shopping. I'd better enjoy my independence while I can and not try to be the boss of everything.
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