I’ve never experienced it.
Was I behind the wheel of a 1967 Mustang Fastback, frustrated at having to follow a slew of putt putters?
Was I driving a Ferrari Testarossa at breakneck speed?
Instead, I was steering a standard, run of the mill, shopping cart.
Yes, folks, it ain’t easy being poor.
And it’s even worse to undergo road rage when your set of wheels is a powered on foot and can only be accessed after inserting fifty euro cents.
The way I see it, the only good thing about this transport mode is that everyone is driving the same model, same year, and the best mileage for your buck is irrelevant.
No pimped up rides, no double exhaust, and surely no tinted windows.
Nevertheless, there are rules to be observed when
driving steering your shopping cart.
These are almost identical to the ones in real life driving:
-Don’t impede the flow of traffic
-Maintain adequate speed
-Anticipate the need to brake
-Only overtake if it’s safe for you and other drivers
-Take care when reversing
Simple enough, right?
Hell to the no.
For some people, driving a supermarket buggy is like expertly maneuvering a real car on the Autobahn.
And for others, it’s like each time is their first time.
I’m usually quite tolerant when it comes to the slow, fast, and even the I-don’t-know-where-the-hell-I’m-going drivers, but today was a low tolerance day; instigated by the mother of all migraines.
My intention was to zip in and zip out of the supermarket; fifteen minutes tops.
Hence, I was unprepared for the hordes of inexperienced, amygdala-guided chauffeurs who hit the supermarket lanes this morning.
In all fairness, I must say my mission started out well enough.
Feeling confident at the wheel of my “car,” I kept to the right and stayed on my lane.
Shoppers seemed to be moving at a steady pace; minding their own business.
I made a stop on aisle three for tin foil which unfortunately, was inconveniently perched on a high shelf.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a tiny cart, the kid model to the grownup version, made a beeline to where I awkwardly stood on tiptoes.
Quickly trying to get out of the driver’s way, I sidestepped to the left and felt a sharp jarring pain as the tiny cart struck me in the back of the foot.
Stifling a tirade of profanity, I sharply turned around to find a four year old child manning the kiddy cart.
Her mother, nowhere to be found.
Heel throbbing and head pounding, I managed to hiss, “Where’s your mother?”
A second later, the tiny driver had disappeared.
Looking down, I noticed that while I wasn’t bleeding, I was sporting an angry red scratch.
Intent on gathering what was left of my list, I hobbled to lane four.
There, I encountered the slowest shopping cart driver I’ve ever met.
She stopped every two steps, leaned on her handle bar, and inhaled, as if gathering the strength to carry on.
Intent on overtaking her, my actions were thwarted by a fast approaching driver on the opposite lane.
I could feel impatience boiling to the surface and I tried to stifle it by praying.
I prayed the good Lord would grant me tranquility and serenity.
However, this time, my prayers seemed to go unanswered and frustration wrecked havoc on my nerves.
Five minutes later, I finally made it to the next lane.
Speeding up to load dairy products into my cart, I didn’t notice an inconsiderate driver who reversed into me, causing a four pack of Activia to fly through the air.
Miraculously, it didn’t burst, but the cart handle lodged into my ribs.
Without so much as a word of apology, the rude man put his cart on drive and drove off like a maniac.
At this point, road rage took over.
I took off after the shopper.
Weaving left and right, I gave chase.
I finally cornered him in aisle eight.
“Excuse me. You backed your shopping car into me back at the dairy section and I think you bruised one of my ribs.”
“I no speak English.”
Repressing the desire to flip him off and ask, “Do you speak middle finger?” I said, “You’re a very rude driver.”
Content I had created awareness to the unsettling situation, I limped to the frozen food section.
Sadly, I was unprepared for a driver who invaded the right lane and as a result, I barely missed being involved in a head on collision.
Convinced I had somehow strayed from the universe’s path of harmony, I made my way to the check out register before road rage once again reared its ugly head.
Yes, I’m convinced whoever said, “Driving is a dangerous business,” was definitely picturing a shopping cart.
When was the last time you engaged in supermarket road rage?
Today I’m linking up with Heidi’s Black and White Wednesday.