Dear Lazy Shoppers of America

If nothing else, this post will be short and informative. Hope that keeps the majority of you tuned in.

Today, I was running a few errands; you know, shopping for a couple of items that I was in dire need of... i.e. a replacement for the 3rd camera I've managed to break and a replacement for the sunglasses that Lake Erie ate during a vacation trip with my closest girl friends. (Bud Light and Inflatable rafts may or may not have been involved with both incidents, but that is besides the point.) 

Anyways, I was pulling into the store's parking lot, searching for a spot that came directly after the designated handicapped parking areas (because clearly a 23 year old female in the prime of her life, can't risk breaking a sweat from trotting across a blazing-hot, pavemented, hell on earth. Especially when this girl is single. I mean, come on... smelling of body odor in a classy boutique like, I don't know, Wal-Mart, where male models are notoriously lurking, would be entirely too chancy.)

...

So, I'm trying to find prime parking. Most days, this conquest is a failed attempt, and I end up transforming into my alter ego, a white trash ingrid, stereotyping any not-like-me person into the category of horrible drivers and screaming profane words (windows up) insulting the way in which their parents conceived them. **REMINDER** This is my alter-ego... an energy formed from inexplicable anger which I can't control or harness. It's a Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde type of deal, ya dig? We've all got them. Don't judge.

However, today, there was no need for Bobby Bill Thorton (that's the alter-ego's name) to come out... because ALAS! A spot was wide open and waiting... no, no, BECKONING... for me to pull on in. 

And so I did! And so it was good.


... until... DUN DUN DUN!

As I began to proceed, the lady parked in the spot in front of me was finishing up unloading her cart into her Lexus. Now, this lady looked as if she had just finished her daily 5k, sporting the tightest of Spandexed running gear, with a half eaten banana in her right hand and a Nalgene bottle full of high quality H20 in her left. At her age (which was probably twice my senior) she looked to be in impeccable health.

I waited to let this fit little woman finish up her unloading and return her cart to the Cart Corral. I looked down to turn the radio station, and as my eyes moved back up to my windshield, I noticed that this exercise-crazed woman was steadying/parking the cart, directly behind her car, to make sure there was no chance it would hit mine, after I parked.

She then got in her car, put it in drive, and sped off.

Now, if this lady weighed in close to 400 pounds, I would have no need for this post, because I would have let that one slide for her. Hell, if she'd weighed 200 pounds I'd even probably give her the benefit of the doubt!

But you cannot tell me, that this 100 pound woman, who probably trained with Lance Armstrong in her hey-day, could not walk a measely 25 feet to return her cart to it's rightful home! Ya just can't, damnit!

Oh, perhaps I'm forgetting to recollect that she obviously had superhuman powers, beyond this world, to stop the wind from blowing so that my car would not get scratched, dinged, or impaled by the wild steal-netted beast on wheels for the duration of my shopping experience. Gee, can't believe I didn't remember that minor detail.

My point is, for the love of God people, PLEASE RETURN YOUR CARTS TO THEIR PROPERLY LABELED DESIGNATED LOCATION! YOU'RE MAKING ME CRAZY!

That is all. Good day.