Shouldn't…but Do

Four wheels, steel chassis, holds a lot – or a little.  Not a car, a grocery cart.

I like ’em fast myself.  Why shop a big box grocery store if you can’t challenge land speed records on east west aisles astride your cart?  I shop when aisles are clear, never menace a pedestrian.  I am a courteous driver.

Grocery carts have a lot of strength.  Usually metal, some plastic – but those are inclined to break.  People put stuff in them all day, let the cart carry the load, and then drive off without so much as a backward glance.

Grocery carts hold a lot for the nameless shoppers who use them.  Not only hard goods, but the hopes, and fears, carried along on each shopping adventure.   I hope I don’t spend too much, this shampoo will make my hair shiny, I got paid so I can check out the  electronics,  if I take these vitamins, I won’t get sick.  Let’s face it, grocery carts get weighed down, even if  only half-full.  People are like that too.

In the end? Grocery carts return to their corral empty, a mobile,  transient structure waiting to be filled by the next person’s expectations.  Inside a store, a full grocery cart denotes largess, on the street, poverty.  Context counts with carts.

And the  folks who want, who need so much, get home,  find out the shoe doesn’t fit, the colour is wrong, the taste is awful.  They will shop again, maybe with  the same cart – or one that looks like it – and hope things turn out different next time.  Pay your money, take your chances.