Shopping Cart Road Rage

Here we are at our local grocery store, HEB, and Chuckwagon Sally has given me instructions about where to navigate and where to stop. You see, I control the shopping cart. Ain’t no one gonna tell me how to drive this thing or at what speed to drive it. If I want to lolly gag in front of produce, so be it. I don’t care much for those stripped down sports car versions of the shopping cart, they’re for sissies. Nor do I care for those 3/4 size versions of a full size shopping cart, I mean, what American male would be caught dead driving one?

Now I don’t recommend shopping with your bride for groceries that often, it’ll just confuse you in the long run, but today, we have a purpose. Turkeys are on sale for 35 cents a pound. I mean, that’s a real bargain. So into the store we go, picking up a cart as we enter the store. It appears that every person and his brother are out shopping today, the store is incredible crowded. I hope I don’t get one of those carts with the wheel broken, one that always pulls to the left or one that the wheel is stuck on it.

Luckily, I get a top of the line, state of the art shopping cart, one that makes a man proud to be shopping in a store. One that speaks of raw power and has many feet of useful space to pack loot. Man this is raw power. Up ahead it looks like a jam near the deli isle. Why can’t these idiots just know what to buy. I mean there’s one guy who is sampling just about every meat made, no wonder it’s backed up. I wonder if HEB has those traffic cameras to let shoppers know about traffic jams or how long it will take to get to the checkout lines from where we are.

I go past the olive bar and stop for a minute. I must sample the olives. So I abandon my cart temporarily to go get a free sample cup for coffee and then fill it with olives to eat. Uh oh, thank God the olive police aren’t watching today. It looks like some son of a bitch has his eye on my shopping cart,, we’ll see about that. Shuu, I’m glad I didn’t have to fight him because at the last second he shied away from the cart. Maybe he knows that “look” Chuckwagon Sally can give someone and decides he doesn’t want to be a pillar of salt, but anyway I’m back at my cart and it appears that I’ve lost Chuckwagon Sally somewhere in the store.

Now you must understand that men in general have a genetic imprint that prevents them from asking for directions, so I just wonder around looking for Chuckwagon Sally going down isles. At first it’s a panic, then slowly, I begin to look at items in the store and decide that I need some of them. Let’s see, here’s my grocery list. Red hot sauce. Olives. Red peppers. Mustard. Beets. Canned Sardines. Anchovies. Chili Mac. Pickled Pickles. More red hot sauce. Tupperware. Plates. 3 spoons on sale. Motor oil. Turkey baster, just because it looks neat. Garlic. Paint. Won ton wrappers. 2 oranges. More garlic. A book on diets. More Tupperware. Uh oh, there’s my phone, it’s Chuckwagon Sally wondering where the hell I am. I explain that I got some essentials and she huffs and tells me to meet her at the meat counter to pick up these turkeys we came in here to get. I reluctantly end my shopping spree and appear at the meat counter. Chuckwagon Sally takes one look at the essentials I have chosen and “dresses” me down. It appears that this is a ritual I see most men going through and can only hold my head in shame, knowing that my idea of essentials is nearly the same as every male who accidentally gets lost in a grocery store and tries to shop. I see several other males going through the same ritual with their brides and several of us look at each other as we approach the covenanted checkout line, knowing that we are not alone, but are a powerful force. By the way, we have to leave almost everything we selected at the register.

I guess this post relates to a jury trial as follows: I hope your lawyer never forgets his or her purpose while in trial in front of a jury, else the other side might dress him or her down and the jury will end up with a bunch of useless crap. Have a nice day, I’m off to court.

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