Oh, The Places I Go...

Over the past few weeks I've enjoyed the luxury of using the ubiquitous "Mart-Cart" devices to tool around local grocery and "big-box" stores.  If you read some of my prior notes, you'll understand the depths of my disdain for these ridiculous devices and for the (typical) people who occupy them.  I was at a local grocery store the other day - the store shall remain nameless, although I can tell you that it sits at the southeast corner of Route 256 and Refugee.  Anyway, I made my way into the store on my crutches, and to my dismay, there were NO electric wheelchairs, and no manual chairs either.  As I was still completely non-weight-bearing at the time, I didn't have a choice but to use one of those damn carts.  So I tracked down the cart boy (is that still a PC title for them?) and asked if he knew if they had any of the carts at the other entrance to the store... No, they didn't have any more.  I then asked him to politely and quietly stalk the next person in line who had a cart, so that he could follow them to the parking lot and return the cart to me.  He giggled at my request, but went inside the store (I was in the cart-area near the outside doors) and waited for an older gentleman who was just finishing up his purchases at the checkout.
As I waited, I noticed an older woman rolling slowly out of the store on another electric cart.  At first I thought that maybe she had just picked up the cart and the battery was dying... alas, she didn't return to the charging station.  Instead, she rolls over to the "Marketplace" furniture display at the front window and strikes up a conversation with an equally old woman who had parked herself on the sofa display.  The woman on the cart was telling a story about her winning $2 lottery ticket.  That's right, Lotto Tickets.  Her lazy carcass couldn't even waddle 15 feet to the service desk so she had to get an electric wheelchair to go get her scratch-off ticket fix???   I'm being nice when I say that this woman was "overweight"... she had managed to pour herself into this horrible dusty-purple plus-size velour tracksuit, complete with Nike Shox running shoes!  And she was clearly not a runner.  She carried on chatting with her little old lady friend for a few minutes until the service desk clerk came outside of the store to pick up an ad from the wire stand in the vestibule.  The buffalo on the mart-cart asks loudly, "Where did that boy go?  The cart boy?  He was supposed to follow me out to my car to get this cart for me".   The service desk clerk replies, "He went out in the parking lot with another customer to get a cart for her," as she gestured over to me (I was still standing at the opposite door).  Track-Suit shouts over at me, "Honey, I didn't know you needed a buggy!!!"   At this point, my blood is boiling, and everything in my existence wanted to go hopping over on my crutches, thump her upside the head and go, "HEY!  If you had ever considered using that f-@#$%  track-suit for it's intended purpose, you wouldn't have needed the damn buggy in the first place!!!"   But, being the cordial and delightful creature I am known to be, I instead responded with a simple nod and wave at her (and an F-you under my breath).  Always be a lady, right?