We’ve never actually said who we are, where we are, what we do, and other such identifying characteristics. It wasn’t necessarily intentional. It just never came up. After a few years and a few hundred posts it became something just not said. This week something happened so heinous we may change that just so we can make sure nobody ever, never, never, ever patronizes a particular store. But first, a story. And with apologies, a somewhat longish story.
Recent events have slowed He of We from his usual vibrant self. There are days when his vibrancy is right up there but none so up there that he can vibe without the help of a cane, and not for more than a couple hundred feet at a time. Thus he has entered the ranks of the temporary handicapped placard people.
All of We (He, She, Sons and Daughter) have always respected the wheel-chaired icon. So much respect goes to those who are somewhat diminished but still find it in themselves to continue to work, shop, and play that even now, if He of We finds himself in a particularly good day and there is only one spot outlined in blue, he will leave it for someone else and find a relatively close general parking place. So much respect goes to those in need that when He sees someone in obvious violation of the perk (for example, the youngster who drops a handicapped person off at the door, tells him or her that he’ll come back to the door for pick-up when he sees him or her emerge from the store, and then goes off to take a handicapped spot to wait at), He of We offers to put said violator in compliance with the rules if he doesn’t move.
But we digress.
Earlier this very week on a particularly trying day, he needed to stop at a local grocery store for a handful of items. This was not the store he usually patronizes but it was one whose weekly ads he scans for that phenomenal loss leader that makes stopping after work worth the few minutes to wander along the dingy aisles. This particular store has their handicapped spots around the corner from the main entrance. Those immediately in front of the store doors are general parking. Fortunately this store is so poorly patronized that at least one of those spots is always available. Not that day. So for the first time he parked in one of the three designated spots around the corner, displayed his placard, struggled out of the driver’s seat, crossed the parking lot, and snatched a buggy on the way in.
He noticed the shopping carts were new from his last visit there. He also noticed that at the inside of the front of the cart, in the place where most supermarkets would make hay with advertisements, these carried a warning. Yes, a warning. “Warning,” it said, “the wheels on this state of the art shopping cart are designed to lock and render the cart immobile if the cart is removed from the security perimeter of [name of store]’s parking lot.” He supposed it made some sense. The store is in an area just as urban as sub and he imagined that many very local shoppers push their laden carts all the way to their apartments and return with them on some future shopping day. But not his problem. He had specials to exploit.
He proceeded through the dingy aisles, made his few purchases, paid his bill, and because of the weight of the items purchased, elected to leave the now bagged products in the cart and wheel it to his designated parking spot. You can see where this is going, can’t you? He got about five feet from his car, absolutely right in the middle of the travel lane, and the wheels locked. And boy, did they lock. That cart was not going anywhere!
It would not budge forward. It would not budge backward. There appeared to be no obvious switches. Worse, there was no audible alarm so no one came running to help (or to prosecute). Not even the buggy boy who at about 20 feet away was apparently far enough not to hear the plea for help. So he, in his not fully capacitated state, did what he could do. He removed his bags, one by one, trekked them to his car, and left the disabled cart right in the middle of the travel lane.
As he pulled away he checked his rear view mirror and saw that the buggy boy had finally noticed the unattended shopping cart and was attempting to corral it back with the rest of the herd. Actually what he was doing was dragging it, kicking it, slapping its handle, and probably swearing at it but since it was at least 20 feet away from anyone, nobody heard his calls for help.
We think we’ll continue to leave our location a bit of mystery. Actually, it’s not that much of mystery but in fairness to the store we’ll just stay “those reality blog people” and give the store owners more benefit of a greater doubt than they undoubtedly deserve. Perhaps the store owners didn’t know that the lot designer had a thing against handicapped people or that the security system installer didn’t realize that those blue spaces around the corner from the entrance would ever actually be used, or that the shopping cart salesperson hadn’t might have bamboozled them with carts that randomly proved their mettle.
We’ll just say that if you are anyplace where the handicapped spots are some 30 to 40 feet from the door and you have to cross the path of 6 to 8 general parking spaces, including 4 that are immediately in front of the entrance, go shop somewhere else. The $4 savings on 12 K-Cups just isn’t worth it.
Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?
Have you seen the new Internet food fad, donut chips? The last time I was at the store I purposely sought out day old donuts to try them. What you’re supposed to do is split your leftover donut in half so you have two skinny disks. Then you coat these in sugar and cinnamon and press them in a panini press. Don’t waste your time. Or your donuts. Unless you like flat, scorched, stale donuts.
It’s been eleven days since we changed our clocks to Daylight Saving Time and I still have one clock that hasn’t’ been advanced yet. If people want an extra hour of daylight in the summer why don’t they just get up an hour earlier?
The Real Reality Show Blog 