Today was a jam-packed errand day, due to my unfortunate illness yesterday. I had business to do at Save A Lot, Country Mart, the dead mouse smelling post office, The Devil's Playground, the bank (drive-thru AND lobby counter), The Devil's Playground South, Casey's, and the gas station chicken store.
Of course there were incidents and accidents along the way. I'll only tell you about my most favorite one today. I had brains in my head, and feet in my shoes, and I steered myself in the direction of booze!
Now don't go thinking Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is off the wagon. I wasn't intentionally steering myself in the direction of booze. The booze was just there, where I was steering myself. Steering my Devil's Playground cart/walker, actually. They have moved all the merchandise to different aisles. I am always forgetting now where to find my standard staples. Today I was looking for nuts. Nuts to go in Chex Mix, and nuts to go in a different treat that may or may not be mentioned here or there.
The nuts used to be on the candy aisle. I could have easily grabbed them when I got some treats to send The Pony in a care package this month. But no. The Devil has moved his nuts. I was headed down the chip aisle, oblivious to the pretzel twists that were also on my list, having forgotten that I forgot them in Save A Lot, my usual pretzel store. There they were! The Devil's nuts! They're on a main aisle now. One that runs straight back from the door at the front of the Playground, toward the Employee's Only door at the back.
There I was, trying to grab the appropriate Devil's nuts, when a woman wheeled her cart around the center display in that main aisle. I don't know why The Devil has to clog up the main thoroughfares of his Playground, but he does. I was over as far as I could get to the right. I was practically touching The Devil's nuts. I waited for her to get by so I could move forward and away from the shelves so I could get a good look at the low nuts, the ones almost on the ground.
I think perhaps I, or that woman, and quite possible I AND that woman, let out a sigh of exasperation, and possibly a semi eye-roll at the other. There was barely enough room for two cart/walkers to pass. Thank the Gummi Mary it wasn't a beeper cart playing chicken with me! Anyhoo...I stayed put, against The Devil's nuts, and That Woman wheeled her cart/walker past me.
That Woman had a flat box that might have held shelves or a bookcase or a little table. You know, the put-together furniture that comes in a flat, rectangular box. She had put it crossways in her cart, not on the bottom shelf. It was hanging out a bit over the right-hand side of her cart. And it HIT A 30-PACK OF BUSCH BEER! The giant cube in bright orange cardboard! For the Halloween holiday, I imagine.
The Busch was felled by That woman! It tumbled off the top of the display, and landed on a corner, and split partway open, cans of Busch rolling, cans of Busch spurting beer like mini fountains! It was a glorious sight to see!
"I'm getting out of here," I told That Woman. Essentially declaring that it was not MY fault. Which it wasn't. She stayed at the scene of the accident. Lucky for the other shoppers, the carnage was lodged between the big pallet displays in the middle of that main aisle. There was still room on each side to continue cart/walker pushing. If that dang woman had been keeping to the right like normal, on the divided highway of the main aisle, she wouldn't even have been on my side, and the disaster would have been avoided.
Anyhoo...a stockboy came by. That's the beauty of smashing a 30-pack of Busch right in front of the Employee's Only door. "Oh. I think you're the one who helped me last time I made a mess!" said That Woman as the stockboy called for backup on his radio. Seeing as how she was taking responsibility, I turned my cart around to head back past her, on the way up front to the checkout.
"She was trying not to hit me. So she wasn't being reckless."
"It was just this box sticking out of my cart. I forgot about it."
Stockboy didn't seem impressed. I left them there with several spraying fountains of Busch at their feet. I sent a text to Farmer H telling him of the carnage. He was quite concerned about my safety.
"Get any on you?"
No. I did not. Which made it the perfect bloggable accident.