Grocery Cart Olympics

I do not understand how society has survived this long when we can’t even manage grocery carts. Every trip to the store is like competing in a low-budget version of the Hunger Games — only instead of bows and arrows, we have squeaky wheels and rogue toddlers.

First, you play Cart Roulette. Will you get the sleek, gliding chariot of dreams? Or the one with a wheel that screams like a tortured banshee and only turns left? Odds are not in your favor.

Then there are the Aisle Blockers. These are people who park their carts diagonally across the cereal aisle while they debate the life-or-death difference between Frosted Flakes and Frosted Mini-Wheats. (Spoiler: Neither one will fix your marriage, Sharon. Pick one and move.)

And let us not forget the Speed Racers who come barreling out of the canned goods like Vin Diesel, nearly taking out your kneecaps with a buy-one-get-one of chickpeas. Sir, this is not Fast & Furious: Produce Drift.

But my personal nemesis? The Cart Abandoners. These savages just leave their empty carts in the middle of the parking lot, as if the Cart Corral is some mythical land you need a passport to enter. Meanwhile, those metal bastards roll with the wind like tumbleweeds, ready to dent the nearest innocent sedan.

I swear, one day I’m going to start a grassroots movement called “Return the Damn Cart.” Membership dues will include the moral satisfaction of not being a jackwagon.

Until then, I’ll keep pushing my lopsided, shrieking cart through the aisles like a deranged gladiator, just trying to make it home with milk, bread, and the dignity I lost somewhere between frozen peas and aisle rage.