The Shopping Cart Blues, Or: Don't Buggy My Basket

About author / Josh Gunn

Bachelor chef; southern cooking; mixologist; university professor. Josh's recipes will delight (and sometimes terrify) you.

The other day I thought I might go to the supermarket for a steak. I also decided to replenish my detergents, soaps, my cache of spring water and soda, and other various items that require the use of a buggy. I very rarely shop with a buggy. I usually use a small basket that I carry on my arm.

One reason I don’t shop with a buggy is that they call it a “basket” here in Austin, Texas. I hate hearing them ask, “do you need a basket” when I check out sometimes, especially when I do not need a buggy and used a basket to shop. The Easter Bunny uses a basket, not a buggy. I also do not like to use a buggy because most of the time it has a sticky wheel that wobbles and squeaks, the effect of which is like having a buggy with a siren on it that announces my imminent arrival to bystanders in the next isle.

Anyway, so, I go to my local supermarket one point five miles away, park in a surprisingly close spot, and procure a buggy (mostly to carry the spring water). I flipped up the kiddie leg-holes cover so that I could put items in the top mini-basket area without worrying about their falling through the kiddie leg-holes.

Now, in contrast to the usual flow of shoppers who commence their shopping in produce, I go to the opposite side of the store and commence my shopping in the toiletries and pet food area. I need toothpaste first, so using proper buggy etiquette I park my buggy at an end-cap of hot dog buns near the processed meats section at the end of the toiletries isle.

(As an aside: people, not just bachelors, but all people: if there is no reason to drive your buggy all the way down the interior of an aisle, then don’t. You cannot fit more than one buggy down an isle, and if you persist without reason you will cause traffic jams, perhaps risking the sanctity of someone's virgin toes. Leave that massive buggy near where you are going, use your two friggin' hands, and return to your buggy with your booty. The sole exception for this are heavy items like spring water; grocers should be required to make their heavy-item isles a little larger than most to accommodate more buggies).

Now, where was I? Oh yes: after successfully parking my empty buggy near said end cap, I wandered up an aisle in search of laundry detergent and toothpaste. The toothpaste was on one side of the aisle, and the detergent, on the other.

I got the toothpaste, then turned into the empty aisle to eyeball the detergent on sale. Out of the corner my eye, I spied a person rummaging through the hot dog buns on the end cap to my right. I turned to get a glimpse for some reason, feeling that slight pull of worry: what’s she doing milling around my buggy? It was a short woman, just above five feet, but wide, wearing a moo-moo thing that was orange striped. She wore glasses and had short, salt-and-pepper hair. She was breathing so heavy I could hear her from about fifteen feet away. She was in her sixties. I surmised that she needed to exercise more.

Anyway, I turned back to my task: Woolite Dark Colors or Cheer Dark? The difference in price was about 40 cents, but did they work the same? Probably. Probably made at the same soap factory, just with different labels. Do I have a coupon in my pocket for either? Nope. I had one for Tide, but not for the dark clothing detergents. Oh well, I guess I’ll settle for the Tide HE Free. I grabbed my detergent and headed back to the cart.

The cart was gone. No cart. What the hell? Where is my cart? I parked it here, next to the hot dog buns, and now it’s gone. Looking around, there was the moo-mooed lady ambling with a buggy toward the processed meats. Does she have my buggy? I looked: she had a buggy, but there were hotdog buns in it. The buggy was soon going to have hotdogs in it. The kiddie-hole flap was turned up. Hmm. How many people do that to their buggies? I looked around: three other buggied shoppers, none with their flaps up. Damn! That biddie took my buggy! Oh well, better get another.

No, I thought. This is too polite. “Excuse me ma'am,” I called. She turned, looking guilty. “Did you take a buggy that was parked here?” She then looked incredulous, muttered “no” while looking at the floor, and started to wheel away. Do I go wrestle the thing away from her? No, I caught her. If she wants to lie, let her lie. I headed to the grocer's door, set my detergent and toothpaste on a floral display counter, went outside and got another buggy, came back into the store, picked up my soap and paste, and finished my shopping.