Act 1, In Which I Am Attacked By A Shopping Cart

I was walking out of Target the other day. I had just purchased a hand mixer, a hand-held vacuum and several other boring adult necessities and was hauling said products to my car in a shopping cart. It was a beautiful day, and I was walking quite briskly to my car, my head afloat with the joy that is knowing you are shopping when your employer thinks you are working. (Is there any greater joy?)

BAM! My cart stopped abruptly, and my exposed shin (I was wearing a skirt) slammed into the metal bar at the bottom of the cart. My eyes welled with tears, and I resisted the urge to shout "FUUUUCK!" at the top of my lungs. I looked down at my shin, and I swear I could see it throbbing. OWWWWWWW.

I thought perhaps that the wheel of the cart had rolled over a pebble, but when I tried to reposition my cart and roll it along, it wouldn't move. At all. I wrestled with the cart, but it remained resolutely motionless. I looked around me. Other people were wheeling their carts around effortlessly. What the hell was wrong with mine?

I noticed a Target employee walking toward me. He'd been watching my battle with the cart, and I thought he was approaching to offer his assistance. "Um, ma'am? The cart is locked," he said, helpfully. "We lock them when you get a certain distance from the store so we don't have to collect them from far away in the parking lot."

"First of all," I said, "I'm not very far from the store. I'm a mere two stores away. Secondly, your store is so busy, there's rarely parking available closer than two stores away. Thirdly, I could have really hurt myself! I mean, REALLY HURT myself. See my leg? It's already turning purple. Finally, I can't believe that this store's policy is to randomly lock carts without posting signs and warnings everywhere. This corporation is setting itself up for a lawsuit, pal!"

Well, I wish I'd said that. Or rather, I wish I'd said that to his manager, as this kid was like, 16 years old.

Instead, still in shock and in major pain, I gathered my belongings and hobbled to my car.

Act 2, In Which I Call the Customer Service Department and Bitch Them Out

They were closed.

Act 3, In Which I Remember to Call Customer Service First Thing Monday Morning, Because Goddamn It, Someone Needs to Know How Much Pain I'm In

I forgot. I was in major pain, my leg swelled and turned purple, green and yellow, but I put off calling and forgot anyway, because I am an idiot.

Act 4, In Which I Develop a Cart Phobia, Curse Target and Proclaim to Never Shop at Such an Irresponsible Corporation Ever Again

I shopped there yesterday. But I'm still sort of afraid of shopping carts.