About a year ago, they opened up a much anticipated grocery store in our area. Wegmans. They had them near my parents house, so I was familiar with the chain, though, those of you that live in Upstate New York, are already familiar. This was no ordinary Wegmans, no, there was rumor of a BAR inside the grocery store, AND they were going to sell beer. In six packs! IN the grocery store. My fellow Pennsylvanians will understand how big of a deal this is. Buying alcohol in a grocery store is still a novelty. Even though I was born in New York (I was too young to buy alcohol while living there, but I remember going with, uh, appropriate aged friends through the Dairy Barn for beer. Yes, that’s it), and lived in California, where you can practically buy Moonshine in your local Safeway. In Pennsylvania, it used to be, that you had to buy beer by the case, and their lovely liquor laws still mandate that you buy liquor at a “state store.” Thankfully, they’ve come far in recent years, allowing you to buy liquor and beer on Sundays. I would never survive in the bible belt.
Anyway, getting to the point. They have these new 2-tiered carts. One that you see frequently nowadays, little short carts, perfect for your smaller loads, and these new carts that I haven’t seen in many places. These new carts, had to have been designed by a man. I blame all bad design flaws on men. This is how I cope. This one was clearly designed by a man with no children, or someone whose children have long since grown up. Or perhaps the person was just smoking crack that day:
Ever since we’ve started to shop here, shopping has become a pain in the ass. First off, I’m limited in storage space, because the easy reach toddler basket has to remain empty or else I’ll spend my entire trip picking groceries off the floor. Putting the two of them next to each other is fine for about five minutes and then the punching and hair pulling begins. Next comes the screaming. By the end of the trip, all of my groceries are falling out of the handy lower basket, and it’s piled so high, that I want to apologize for all of the people who are in physical therapy, because I can’t see where the fucking cart ends.
Except for the guy that designed these stupid asshole carts. In which case, I want to repeatedly ram you in the knees, while my children chuck the easy to reach groceries at you.