Stray Stupidity

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a greedy person in possession of a perceived wrong, however slight, must be in want of a lawsuit. That being said, I humbly stand before you (actually, I’m sitting quite comfortably in a cushy chair gazing upon a picturesque scene of sycamore trees and cows in the corn),  guilty of filing a suit. But I am not greedy.

Please do not “X” me out or judge me too harshly; as my tale unfolds, you’ll see that my hand was forced. I brought the action against stupers (yet again, short for decidedly stupid persons).

A new oversize grocery store chain opened its latest market near my home. Let’s call it, “Shopaway.” Shopaway had a novel means of corralling their shopping carts: they didn’t. Carts sat atop a slight slope that dipped directly toward the main driveway of the parking lot. Carts often slid downwards, resulting in people and automobiles constantly ducking and dodging these rebellious, motorless, four-wheelers.

I drove into said driveway and stopped at the bottom to allow an elderly pedestrian to cross. A car pulled up behind me. As I waited, I turned my head toward the store and gasped. An errant shopping cart plummeted toward me at a speed in excess of three mph.  My choice was to either stay put and absorb the blow or knock into the senior citizen sending her spiraling through the air and into the nearby Blockbuster.

The cart crashed into the left front of my idling vehicle, leaving a formidable dent. I was glad the old lady was spared.

I parked and stepped inside the store seeking the manager. Manager bore a strong resemblance to the scarecrow in the original “Wizard of Oz” sans endearing smile and twinkling eyes. Please recall that he was the character in search of… a brain.

I explained about the mishap. Manager wordlessly grabbed a notepad and followed me to my car. I expected utterances of sympathy or apology; even a conversation about the fine weather would have been welcome. Instead, I received grunts and grimaces.  After he finished scribbling notes, he turned to leave.

“I’ll send you my repair bill!” I shouted after him. I might as well have addressed a shopping cart.

Repairs cost six hundred dollars. All of my calls to Shopaway were ignored.

I returned to the store and gave the manager a copy of my bill. He took it in silence. I asked a nearby bagboy if the manager was mute.

“Oh, he can talk plenty well,” I was informed.

For the next two months, my repeated attempts at contact were ignored. Meanwhile, I continued to notice stray shopping carts quietly taking over the lot.

On a hunch, I called the City offices and spoke to the City Manager.

“We have countless complaints about the Shopaway liberated cart situation. If there’s anything you can do, please do it!”

Months later, I took Shopaway to Small Claims Court. I had taken pictures of my damaged vehicle and a video of carts running unrestrained throughout the parking lot; I brought copies of my unanswered pleas for reimbursement. Shopaway representatives did not show up, but the nice judge said he enjoyed my pictures anyway. I won by default.

I called Shopaway headquarters, specifically the legal department. A paralegal shouldered the burden of talking to me as no attorneys deemed it a weighty matter. I was told to go the store and talk to the new manager.

I walked into the market. It had been several months since my last visit. The entire place had changed. New faces greeted me; locations of items and areas had been switched around. This manager smiled, spoke in complete sentences, walked up to a register, opened it and gave me six hundred dollars in cash. I wasn’t sure whether I’d entered the Twilight Zone or a market owned by the Good Fellas. The manager didn’t even need to see my repair bill; he just asked how much I wanted.

I edged out of the store backwards; once outside, I turned and raced to my car.

A few months later, I returned. The parking lot appeared different. I looked around. It looked empty, somehow. The shopping carts were now rounded up into a new metal corral. Not a stray one in sight.

Sheer stupidity was in charge of the release of the shopping carts. There is no other possible explanation. This was a case of looking stupidity in the eye and exercising what little power I had to institute a change…and get my money.

Don’t stop thinking!


6 Responses to “Stray Stupidity”

  1. Agnes Mildew says:

    Congratulations! A victory for those of us whose IQ is in positive integers. I think I would have been tempted to ram the mute manager’s car with a crocodile of shopping trollies and see if that made him utter anything. Ignoramus.

  2. Conquering stupidity is a slice of heaven isn’t it?

  3. pdr says:

    Paintless Dent Repair

    I hate dents, way to stick it to the man!

  4. Julianne says:

    What you witnessed, when you were handed that cash, was a Festivus miracle.

  5. Keli says:

    Thank you. It was truly a supermarket parking lot victory
    Happily Anonymous:
    It sure is!
    No one hates dents more than my husband!
    Fascinating! I can’t believe I didn’t figure that out myself.

  6. dawn says:

    Kudo’s! You made one great leap for the un-stupid people! Well done!

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