Dude, where's my cart? Attention all shoppers: Be on the lookout for a stainless steel cart with a wobbly right front-wheel, half-filled with Cheerios, toilet paper, milk, lettuce, two pounds of hamburger and a pint of cottage cheese.
Last seen being rolled away by someone who has no idea they've grabbed the wrong cart.
Yep, it's happened again. Somebody stole my grocery cart — while I was in the process of filling it. It isn't the first time. Nor will it be the last, I'm sure.
You have to understand I approach grocery shopping like war, armed with a battle plan that matches my list with where items should be.
Around the perimeters and up and down the aisles I stride, snatching stuff right and left while refusing to allow things like jalapeño chips and chocolate/caramel ice cream into my peripheral vision.
People are also reading…
As with any well-oiled machine, this one sometimes springs a few leaks. Either I've forgotten an item on the list or can't find it, which means stepping away from the cart for a few seconds.
That's all it takes.
As I return to where my cart should be, a sickening feeling takes hold. Someone has purloined my cart.
Nothing left to do but scurry up and down the aisles, hoping to spy my cart being nonchalantly rolled away by some absent-minded shopper.
It does no good, of course. Defeated, I head for the outside of the store, grab another cart and start in all over again.
I often wonder when it dawns on these folks that they've taken the wrong cart. Perhaps at the checkout counter? Perhaps when they get home and wonder who put the cottage cheese in their shopping bag?
More than once I've thought about employing a few diversionary tactics. Maybe if I plop a large plant in the child's seat, that will work. Or even a large child.
One thing I won't park in that space is my own purse. Sure, it might cut down on others taking the cart. Heck, they'll just take my purse instead.
I can't tell you how many times I've seen purses left in a cart while the shopper is elsewhere, perusing the merchandise. Once, and only once, have I said anything about it.
Her withering "mind-your-own-business" glance was enough. OK, lady. Hope you enjoy canceling all those credit cards and getting a new driver's license. Oh, and don't forget about that checkbook, too.
Truth be told, I, too, have been guilty of rolling off with someone else's cart — never one with a purse in it, of course. But sooner or later it dawns on me that, noooo, those aren't my rutabagas.
So I return the cart to where I might have first grabbed it, scoop out my own items, then hunt down my rightful cart. Oh, please, please still be there.
Maybe that's why cars have keys. Ever tried to get in a car that wasn't yours? Me, too.
For years, I drove a white Honda identical to, oh, every third car in the parking lot.
Many's the time I've tried to stick my key in someone else's lock, while muttering, "Now why won't this #$%&* thing work?"
Last time I did this, my "clue" that perhaps this wasn't my car was a baby carrier in the backseat. Nope, no babies here.
These days I drive a car just like the other third of Tucson's population. Did I mention it's beige? This one has an automatic door opener — not that it discourages me in the least.
Helpful hint: If you see a woman futilely pointing and clicking away at your car, pay no heed. Just watch out for her at the grocery store.
