Big Bad Kitty
lolcat
So frustrated I either want to cry or punch someone...
OK, so a few days ago I ran into the president of the board. She saw me struggling with some bags (as there was no cart again) and I asked her if I could put up a note. She said that it was against the bylaws and that I could be fined.
But the moron with the cart in his unit gets off scott free?
Well, she says, nobody knows who it is, so there is nothing we can do. And since I already opened my big mouth, if a note should surface, there is a safe bet that it came from me.
Whatever.
So today I got ready to go to the grocery store. Not Aldi, where I do 90% of my shopping, just Jewel for produce and meat. And pop. I go downstairs. No carts. Not even the little squeaky one. Grrr. Go back upstairs. Grab my old lady cart. Go to store. Shop. Come home. Now, since it is over 40* outside, the usually quiet parking lot is bustling with people, and everybody is watching my fatass struggle with loading my old lady cart.
In my van is a bunch of junk that my mom gave me (crafts and such) that also need to go upstairs. I load them in the cart first, as they are bigger, with the groceries up top. This is a help because the bars on the side of the cart are widely spaced and I don't want the bags to slip out the sides.
Lock up the car. Awkwardly tilt cart. Strain back while trying to pull it behind me. Cart hits back of shoe. Entire cart tips over. Into a mud puddle. Are you fricking kidding me. ALL the grocery bags fall out. NONE of the junk from my mom does. It remains safely nestled within the confines of said cart.
Strawberries are escaping and rolling along the pavement. I'm trying not to swear. Now it starts to RAIN, folks. I do a quick mental checklist. Have I killed anyone lately? Committed adultery? Dishonored thy father? Coveted thy neighbor? Oh, it's the SABBATH, that must be it.
I pile the goods back into the cart and push/pull/yank it into the building. My back is SCREAMING in pain. Of COURSE I have to share the elevator. I could not have this moment to myself. I get to my door and dump all my food onto the counter. I salvage what strawberries I can (I hope Tink appreciates this. I don't even like strawberries). The cart is sitting in the hallway, taunting me. The bag of junk are still in it, and the residual moisture is starting to eat away at the bag. I gingerly try to pull the bag out. It is caught. I loosen the left side. Now it is caught on the right. I unhook the right side. Now it is caught on the left again. I growl (yes, I growl) and yank the stupid bag out. Paints, yarns, knick knacks, ribbons go flying everywhere.
Somebody order me a lobotomy.
OK, so a few days ago I ran into the president of the board. She saw me struggling with some bags (as there was no cart again) and I asked her if I could put up a note. She said that it was against the bylaws and that I could be fined.
But the moron with the cart in his unit gets off scott free?
Well, she says, nobody knows who it is, so there is nothing we can do. And since I already opened my big mouth, if a note should surface, there is a safe bet that it came from me.
Whatever.
So today I got ready to go to the grocery store. Not Aldi, where I do 90% of my shopping, just Jewel for produce and meat. And pop. I go downstairs. No carts. Not even the little squeaky one. Grrr. Go back upstairs. Grab my old lady cart. Go to store. Shop. Come home. Now, since it is over 40* outside, the usually quiet parking lot is bustling with people, and everybody is watching my fatass struggle with loading my old lady cart.
In my van is a bunch of junk that my mom gave me (crafts and such) that also need to go upstairs. I load them in the cart first, as they are bigger, with the groceries up top. This is a help because the bars on the side of the cart are widely spaced and I don't want the bags to slip out the sides.
Lock up the car. Awkwardly tilt cart. Strain back while trying to pull it behind me. Cart hits back of shoe. Entire cart tips over. Into a mud puddle. Are you fricking kidding me. ALL the grocery bags fall out. NONE of the junk from my mom does. It remains safely nestled within the confines of said cart.
Strawberries are escaping and rolling along the pavement. I'm trying not to swear. Now it starts to RAIN, folks. I do a quick mental checklist. Have I killed anyone lately? Committed adultery? Dishonored thy father? Coveted thy neighbor? Oh, it's the SABBATH, that must be it.
I pile the goods back into the cart and push/pull/yank it into the building. My back is SCREAMING in pain. Of COURSE I have to share the elevator. I could not have this moment to myself. I get to my door and dump all my food onto the counter. I salvage what strawberries I can (I hope Tink appreciates this. I don't even like strawberries). The cart is sitting in the hallway, taunting me. The bag of junk are still in it, and the residual moisture is starting to eat away at the bag. I gingerly try to pull the bag out. It is caught. I loosen the left side. Now it is caught on the right. I unhook the right side. Now it is caught on the left again. I growl (yes, I growl) and yank the stupid bag out. Paints, yarns, knick knacks, ribbons go flying everywhere.
Somebody order me a lobotomy.
