Waiting for Stephen to check out for a second time, forgot something, I placed my foot on the shopping cart, you know, underneath the basket. It’s supposed to be better for the back to stand with one leg a little higher. Don’t remember why though.
Well, that’s when it happened, my foot got stuck. Because in order to put my foot on those new black shopping carts, I had to push aside a part that immediately decided to trap my foot.
I push back and forth nonchalantly, glancing around hoping no one notices, idiot me, that would be a good thing, marianna. Nothing’s moving, still stuck. I bend down to push the darn thing, it doesn’t budge. For a moment I contemplate a life with a shopping cart attached to my foot. The images were not pretty.
I notice a guy noticing me and act like nothing is amiss while I panic. I call out quietly to Stephen that I need his help because my foot is stuck. As quietly as I can and knowing darn well that Stephen is occupied with paying for the forgotten item.
The guy returns, because my distress must have been obvious, or my quiet shouting too loud. He asked if I needed help to which I reply, no, I’m ok, this guy (pointing to Stephen) will help me.
I can’t crawl into my cave with a shopping cart stuck on my foot, that is clear now. I’m exposed to anyone’s attention if they so choose. And Stephen, good, and the cashier, not good, come on over to look at my predicament.
I give Stephen directions where to push but he does so without success. I ask him to take my shoe off at my heel, and that finally frees me. The shopping cart is still holding on to my shoe and won’t let go, until I push with all my might and there is a give.
I’m hysterically laughing now that I survived the incident, but shoppers beware, the carts are out there, waiting for you to make the wrong move.