I am the shopping cart that you left four steps outside of the ‘return carts here’ sign. Maybe you missed the metal railings that cordon off us carts? An FYI—they are conveniently located just underneath the ‘return carts here’ sign.
When you shoved me out of your way, did you hear me rattle in protest?
Did you hear the scrape, like fingernails on a chalkboard, when I nicked the passenger side door of that shiny cobalt blue sports car? I noticed that you weren’t compelled to leave a note with your contact information.
You just left me there—a participant in a hit and couldn’t-run.
Did you consider how getting shoved so unceremoniously made me feel? How inpatient of you. It seems you were having a bad day. I get it. Even on my best day I get pushed around, with no control over my destination.
I am forced to carry things, with no appreciation. Sometimes those things are heavy, like 50 lb. bags of dog food or bird seed. This inhibits my movement, makes me feel sluggish.
People leave unwanted papers on the floor of my basket. The papers fly out.
And there I am—a participant in littering.
They spill things on me. Their yogurt leaks or the dew from their milk sticks to my basket. Seldom do they clean me, even though a wide variety of wipes are available. The next shopper puts things in my basket and the previous droppings stick to the new things.
And there I am—a participant in causing a mess of a potentially infinite nature.
Even with all that, I don’t go around shoving so hard such as prompted me to write this letter. In the future, I implore you to return me to my place between the metal railings.
A place where I am comfortable, cordoned off with a group of my peers. A place that helps keep the car door nicking issue at a minimum.
I ask you to put yourself in my place, and put me back where I belong.
Your disgruntled shopping cart