It was a contentious battle. My opponent was worthy. And full of hostility.
It was like wrestling a Grizzly.
I stepped back to regroup and then attacked from an angle it was not expecting. I was gaining momentum!
Maybe not. It was giving me the fight of its life.
I grunted. Like Sharapova serving for the win.
I sensed an audience beginning to form.
OK, it was just Dave and the Publix guy.
And they weren’t applauding. Or helping. They seemed to be enjoying the entertainment.
I grunted louder and said, “Maybe I should sell tickets.” .
I refused to give in. With one last surge of energy, I threw every ounce of my being into the fight.
And finally one grocery cart came loose.
I put my hands up in the air in celebration then limped away, holding my bruised arm.
“Remind me to wear my roller derby uniform on my next shopping trip.”
As I pushed the liberated cart into the store, the Publix guy spoke up. (Let’s call him “Craig”.)
“Can I teach you the trick?”
“The trick?” I said.
“Yeah. Watch this.” Craig approached the line of carts that had fought so hard to protect its own. He slipped his foot down to the bottom of the front cart and lifted the bottom rack.
“Just lift this and it lets go,” he said.
OMG. I have been fighting with grocery carts for DECADES. How did I not know this? Are you kidding me?
Craig smiled smugly and said, “I’ve been trying to spread the word.”
I looked back at the line of carts that had put up such a valiant fight. They looked deflated.
Not unlike a declawed cat.
I actually felt sorry for them.
For the rest of my life, grabbing a grocery cart will be like shooting a fish in a barrel. No challenge.
As I wheeled my cart through into the store I noticed that the front wheel was pulling the cart slightly to the left. Then the wheel began to squeak.
“Stupid cart,” I said.
It may have been my imagination, but I think I heard another tiny squeak that sounded, remarkably, like, “Touche”.