Wrinkly Bits
A Blog by Gail Cushman
Originally posted 10/15/25
Yesterday, we needed to go to a Big Box Store, and as you might know, I am still in this confounded foot cast, waiting to stretch out my wayward foot and play Hopscotch or maybe even soccer, although kicking a soccer ball might ruin my pedicure. I use a wheelchair to have some mobility (mostly bathroom breaks) and get along pretty well. Before you ask, I tried to use a knee scooter, but two previous knee replacement surgeries nixed that. Playing Hopalong Cassidy with crutches or a walker—nope, recipe for disaster, so hot wheels, it is.
Every time we go into a Big Box Store, people are using fantastic shopping carts attached to an electric mobile unit. They are cool, baby, cool. Young or old users move easily, filling their carts with Big Box specials. They drive very carefully, and no one seems to be in danger. They weave in and out of aisles, moving from blueberries to carrots to paper plates to baby clothes without a hitch, maybe grabbing a bottle or two of wine or Worcestershire Sauce. I offered to stay in the car, but Cowboy shook his head. “No way,” he said, “We’ll just get you one of those electric carts and you can help me shop,” I jumped at the chance, and with a huge smile and mega confidence, I moved toward the electric cart area. Woo-hoo! How hard can it be? That was my first mistake.
I sat down on the first one I saw and flipped the little red switch on. Nothing happened. There were directions in two languages, but they left off step one: unplug it from the wall. Cowboy said, “You forgot something and showed me the machine’s plug he pulled from the wall. Feeling stupid because I had to get help to unplug it, we continued. Two little handles, forward and reverse, and a steering wheel, how hard can it be? That seemed logical and made sense, except they weren’t labeled, so I mixed them up a few times. I do apologize profoundly to the lady with her hair in pink curlers I ran into, but these vehicles should be labeled. Perhaps a “Beware, Student Driver,” sign would be appropriate. If you push the forward handle too slowly, you just sit there. If you gun it, it goes like a bat out of hell or a souped-up Mustang on a drag strip.
My first challenge was to turn a corner., “Slowly,” the Cowboy said. “Slooowly.” I pushed the forward button slowly, but obviously not slowly enough. It jumped ahead, but it wasn’t my fault. An enormous Halloween display jumped out at me. I didn’t knock it over, but I scared the dickens out of the 12-foot witch guarding the rest of the display. The display screeched and red lights flashed brightly, warning others. Two old men raised their hands in retreat and backed off, a small child cried. Oops.
I finally got my electric cart under control and Cowboy started filling it up. The cart area is smaller than it looks, and soon it was heaped with Big Box specials, in fact, it only held $190 worth of stuff, while we usually can’t get out of the store for under $400. See what I mean.
I could go on, but you get the picture. The electric carts are fantastic tools, but I’m a danger to witches, old men, and small children. Life is good. I’ll be back to normal soon…can’t wait!
