They Always Find Me

Y’all know that old saying, every village has an idiot? Well, if the village has one, they always find me.

The latest example happened Thanksgiving morning. I’d been to the grocery store three times on Wednesday, so naturally I had to make one last trip Thanksgiving morning. Forgot milk, bread, and a few other staples. I went early, 7:30’ish, thinking I’d beat the crowd.

I did. Parked right up front, nabbed a couple of the antiseptic wipes for the handle, and grabbed one of those half buggies and headed in the store. The first area is the fruits and fresh produce. There’s a guy blocking the aisle, trying to pick the right batch of celery or something. I wait, no rush, you know, the store’s practically empty and I’m still easing into the day. The guy picks something, turns, looks at me, takes a few steps toward me, nods toward my buggy, and says, “Can I have my cart back?”

I’ll admit, it stunned me and I had no quick response. After a pause and him taking another step toward me and my buggy, I finally replied, “Beg your pardon?”

“Give me my cart back,” he insisted.

“This cart?” I looked over my shoulder, jerked a thumb toward the front of the store, literally, twenty feet away. “I just got it there,” I told him.

“No you didn’t, you took it. It’s my cart.” He took another step toward me.

Younger me screamed in my brain: you know where this is going. It’s gonna go a lot better if you get in the first one, and you might get out before the cops get here. Punch this asshole in the mouth and be done with it.

I need to interject here. I am my father’s son. My Pops once punched a preacher in the nose over a bad call at a church softball game. I’d never been more proud of him. So, yeah, I had in it me. Once. But, it’s a different time.

I sized up the guy. Non-descript, my age, maybe a couple years older, about my height and twenty pounds heavier, tennis shoes, slacks, flannel shirt and a jacket, a red ball cap.  Younger me whispered you can take him, be quick. Present me said breathe, you don’t know the load this guy’s carrying, and plus, he probably is carrying and your insurance ain’t good enough to cover getting shot.

I looked around again.  This time, I realized what had happened. A buggy—a half cart just like the one I had—sat at the other end of the apple display with a head of cabbage and a bag of oranges in it. Poor guy was a little disoriented.

Helpful me pointed. “Is that not your buggy?”

He didn’t look. Instead, he took another step closer and raised his voice louder, “You took my cart,” he insisted again.

I laughed. “Sorry, dude. Here you go. I’ll just use that one there,” I pointed toward his buggy again.

He took my cart and spun around. The guy slowed as he came to the other cart, reached in and took the head of cabbage and bag of oranges out, placed them in the cart I gave him, and huffed away.

And people wonder why this country is so screwed up these days… You can’t make this stuff up, y’all.

My novel, Sunflower Dog, releases April 7th, 2020. Sign up for my newsletter to get monthly updates about the book, appearances, and merch opportunities. It’s easy, just click here.