Rodeo, Racing and Reins
I once rode bulls in the rodeo. Yeah, I've bucked and busted on some of the orneriest creatures around. Trying to stay on for eight seconds, all for the glory of that buckle, had its ups and downs. As it is though, I’d never trade those experiences for anything.
Okay, so it wasn't a bull. It wasn't even an animal but it threw me nevertheless. Shopping carts could have their own rough-stock event at any rodeo. If you don't keep yourself centered on them, they'll throw you like second place at the local beauty contest pitching a hissy. Let me explain.
My wife, Marilyn, and I were doing a little shopping down at the Wal-Mart. We were there to take advantage of those ever falling prices. Knowing there was a passel of things on her list, I got a basket.
Gentle Feeders, if you're ever out shopping and from somewhere a few aisles over you hear a distinct human-made racing-engine noise, chances are it could be me. Pushing a shopping cart is a game, a competition even, for me.
There's nothing quite like the thrill of racing your cart down an aisle toward the turn. As you head into the corner, the wheels start squealing as the rear end breaks loose a little. That’s down right exhilarating!
Or rolling along in a pack of carts you catch a rookie, usually a small child of seven or eight, not paying attention. You nudge his basket a little when you pass him, sending his front end into the display of Vienna sausages made to look like the Eiffel Tower. As the little wieners come crashing down, his mother turns and scolds him, while he's pointing and saying, "But Mom, it wasn't me!"
Meanwhile, you're hightailing it off to the next aisle.
As the shopping trip draws to an end, you start to anticipate the race to the check-out. As you make your move you lower your head, for aero-dynamics, and rush the cart forward. It's especially helpful if you can imitate the horn on a fire truck. Folks will be turning around wild-eyed and bolting from behind their carts. You may even run an elderly couple slap into an aisle-end display of various nuts.
I need to mention here, though, that care should be taken when dealing with the elderly. I once had a ninety-year-old heave a bottle of vitamin E at me while coming after me with her walker. Never underestimate the skill of your fellow competitors.
After making our selections on this fateful day, we made our way to the checkout area. Ran six old codgers into the pet supplies aisle trying to get there.
Like most people, I wanted to find the shortest line. Scanning the various check-outs I spotted an opening. One of the front-line registers had but two folks and each one had a jar of pickled pigs feet. I jerked the cart around 90 degrees and started to run. You’ve got to be quick or other fools will cut you off before you get there.
As I saw my victory just a few yards away, I decided to "pop a wheelie." Yes sir, I pulled the front wheels up to be cool.
However, cool was not what I felt a moment later.
Why do they wax the floors up around the checkouts? I don’t know, but I'd like to choke the one who did it.
Once the front wheels came up they just kept a-comin'. My knees hadn't hurt that bad in ages.
In one fluid movement, though, I immediately popped back up and never looked back.
You don't look back at the crowd when you've been thrown by a shopping cart. You don't want them to see your face. What pride you might have left would shrivel up as it fried away on your reddening cheeks. You don't want to see them shaking their heads as if to say,"What a doofus! He oughta know better, as old as he is."
Evidently Marilyn didn’t want her face to be seen either. At least not with me. I found her out in the car after I’d paid for everything. Her boldly outlined thought-bubble was too big to be contained within the interior of the car. In it were the italicized words, “What two-bit circus did you escape from?”
Those quiet times on the ride home can give you a lot of time to reflect on your most recent actions.
I've been put on restriction at Wal-Mart and other stores. Not by the stores but by Marilyn. When we go shopping now, I have to keep all four wheels on the ground.
You know, a guy just can't have fun anymore.
© 2006 Michael Wicinski
Okay, so it wasn't a bull. It wasn't even an animal but it threw me nevertheless. Shopping carts could have their own rough-stock event at any rodeo. If you don't keep yourself centered on them, they'll throw you like second place at the local beauty contest pitching a hissy. Let me explain.
My wife, Marilyn, and I were doing a little shopping down at the Wal-Mart. We were there to take advantage of those ever falling prices. Knowing there was a passel of things on her list, I got a basket.
Gentle Feeders, if you're ever out shopping and from somewhere a few aisles over you hear a distinct human-made racing-engine noise, chances are it could be me. Pushing a shopping cart is a game, a competition even, for me.
There's nothing quite like the thrill of racing your cart down an aisle toward the turn. As you head into the corner, the wheels start squealing as the rear end breaks loose a little. That’s down right exhilarating!
Or rolling along in a pack of carts you catch a rookie, usually a small child of seven or eight, not paying attention. You nudge his basket a little when you pass him, sending his front end into the display of Vienna sausages made to look like the Eiffel Tower. As the little wieners come crashing down, his mother turns and scolds him, while he's pointing and saying, "But Mom, it wasn't me!"
Meanwhile, you're hightailing it off to the next aisle.
As the shopping trip draws to an end, you start to anticipate the race to the check-out. As you make your move you lower your head, for aero-dynamics, and rush the cart forward. It's especially helpful if you can imitate the horn on a fire truck. Folks will be turning around wild-eyed and bolting from behind their carts. You may even run an elderly couple slap into an aisle-end display of various nuts.
I need to mention here, though, that care should be taken when dealing with the elderly. I once had a ninety-year-old heave a bottle of vitamin E at me while coming after me with her walker. Never underestimate the skill of your fellow competitors.
After making our selections on this fateful day, we made our way to the checkout area. Ran six old codgers into the pet supplies aisle trying to get there.
Like most people, I wanted to find the shortest line. Scanning the various check-outs I spotted an opening. One of the front-line registers had but two folks and each one had a jar of pickled pigs feet. I jerked the cart around 90 degrees and started to run. You’ve got to be quick or other fools will cut you off before you get there.
As I saw my victory just a few yards away, I decided to "pop a wheelie." Yes sir, I pulled the front wheels up to be cool.
However, cool was not what I felt a moment later.
Why do they wax the floors up around the checkouts? I don’t know, but I'd like to choke the one who did it.
Once the front wheels came up they just kept a-comin'. My knees hadn't hurt that bad in ages.
In one fluid movement, though, I immediately popped back up and never looked back.
You don't look back at the crowd when you've been thrown by a shopping cart. You don't want them to see your face. What pride you might have left would shrivel up as it fried away on your reddening cheeks. You don't want to see them shaking their heads as if to say,"What a doofus! He oughta know better, as old as he is."
Evidently Marilyn didn’t want her face to be seen either. At least not with me. I found her out in the car after I’d paid for everything. Her boldly outlined thought-bubble was too big to be contained within the interior of the car. In it were the italicized words, “What two-bit circus did you escape from?”
Those quiet times on the ride home can give you a lot of time to reflect on your most recent actions.
I've been put on restriction at Wal-Mart and other stores. Not by the stores but by Marilyn. When we go shopping now, I have to keep all four wheels on the ground.
You know, a guy just can't have fun anymore.
© 2006 Michael Wicinski
posted by Michael Wicinski at 9:06 PM
5 Comments:
Dad, you are really crazy. I told you your inner child needed Ritalin didn't I. I wish I could have been there to see it though. Be careful next time and 'have be yourself'! Love ya!
LOL! Good article!
"It's especially helpful if you can imitate the horn on a fire truck." Wow - now there's a visual (or an imaginary audio LOL)
Thanks for the chuckles! Best wishes to you for a wonderful weekend!
PS - Did you get my reply on how to shorten your front page? Go to your Dashboard > Settings > Format and choose a small number of posts, like 3 or 4.
That is hilarious! Nice post and very humorous.
When I was a bagboy, we used to "surf" on the double decker carts (a 3' tall stock cart with turning wheels at one end and fixed wheels at the other) in the store's back room. We would run and jump onto it, riding it as far as we could while attempting tricks.
I liked how you traded paint with the 6 y/o, LOL.
Chris
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I'm proud to be a southpaw! Today, August 13 is National Left Handers Day!So I "left" (groan - whatta bad pun!) a little link love for ya today!
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