I want to take this time to personally thank reader Karen Sabourin for ruining my entire day. Before reading her e-mail, I was happy as a clam knee deep in muck; happy as a duck in water; happy as a pig in — well, you get the picture.
Then I read her e-mail. As I think back, I can honestly say, ‘Yep, she really messed me up.?
What dastardly information did she impart to me that has me in this tizzy? Read it for yourself, and then tell me you are not a changed man (or woman).
* * *
Dear Don,
This has been bothering me for years, and I am positive I’m not the only one. Ever since we have started using the bottle return, I have noticed this very disgusting thing people insist on doing. They grab a grocery cart, and start emptying their bottles and cans from a plastic bag into the shopping cart.
Now why, when they are already contained in the plastic bag, would you pour your sticky, germy cans, and bottles into a shopping cart I plan on using to put my food purchases in. WHY???
Does anyone have any suggestions on how we can get people to stop doing this? Is this the responsibility of the storeowner, or do I take the chance on making my point known to the culprit, and hope he/she will think about my comment, and realize someone else is doing it to them? Please print this for your readers, and make people think about what they’re doing. It has to start somewhere, to make it stop.
* * *
I will never be the same. Smackin? frackin, blizin? rizin! Thanks a lot, Karen. I will never look at another grocery cart and the food that will eventually pass my lips and land on my tongue in said cart, the same way.
Maybe it was Shakespeare who wrote that folks really don’t need to know the answers to all their questions — sometimes knowledge makes you sad. I know there are all sorts of ickies all over grocery carts and I am sad.
I think I can handle germs and crud coming from inside of a beer can (I believe my body has built up a titanium-strong immune system from the building blocks of hops, barley, water and whatever else comes from a can o’beer). So, Karen’s concerns really don’t bother me . . . It is the fact she opened my eyes to the real world, the ugly truth of grocerycartdom that has bummed me out.
On a personal side note, I often find when I have particular angst about something, I can soothe my aching id by clearly thinking an item through. I take the angst out of the mix. I picture ‘it? out there in front of me. I put my problem in perspective. Sooner or later, I come up with a reason why I shouldn’t have that particular angst. I think this might be a benefit to some of you out there and to you Karen, as it is to me. So let’s go!
As I look at the stale beer dripping from the bottle (or can) onto the metal webbing of the grocery cart another thought pops up . . .
I see an old man, pushing his cart. He sneezes, yellow stuff runs from his nose onto his lip. He stops pushing the cart, reaches into his back pocket for his yellowed, well-used and what used to be white handerchief. He wipes his nose, wads up the handerchief, shoves it back into his pants pocket, then grabs a hold of the cart and resumes shopping . . .
I see a one-year-old girl wearing a cute, pink summer dress. She’s in the part of the cart where you put food. Her summer dress is short and I can see she’s in training briefs. I see her mom, down the aisle a few feet, reading over the nutritional values of different canned foods. I see the little girl’s face turn from smiles, to panic to crying as she looks for her mom and then down to the bottom of the cart. The training hasn’t yet worked and there’s been an accidental brown out . . .
I see another woman putting a package of hamburger in the front of her cart (where that cute little girl from above usually sits) and as she places it in her cart, I see the red, blood-juice dripping on the sides of the cart . . .
I see a lone grocery cart baking in the hot sun on a black asphalt parking lot. Overhead, I see seagulls flying. Their aim is impeccable. I see gooey white stuff from above hit the plastic handle and splatter . . .
There, I think that worked well. I know I feel better.
Karen, I believe you are now cured of your angst over returnable bottles — and you didn’t even have to pay a psychologist top dollar for the fix. You can personally thank me later.
Seriously, folks. Check out your grocery store. Some have little wipey things you can use to wipe down your cart. If your favorite grocery store doesn’t have the wipey thing, talk to the manager about getting one. Or go the Howard Hughes route, wear latex gloves and bring your own box and bags for groceries.
Any other comments for me (or Karen) can be emailed to dontrushmedon@charter.net