Business With The Devil

Mrs. HM has a confession. She has been doing business with the Devil. In his Playground. 

You may recall that Mrs. HM had not set foot into the Devil's Playground for over four years. Ever since The Virus, when she took objection to being made to walk around the end of cattle chutes set up along the front of the store. Such a distance for one who needs a handicap parking space. Only to find that such a parking space doubled the distance she had to walk to get inside. The one-way arrows on alternate aisles was also a bone of contention.

Anyhoo... I think it was near the end of September when The Pony asked if I felt like making a sortie to the Devil's Playground.

"They have new carts now. I'm not sure you'll like them. The handle is way up high, like to your chest. But they do have more registers open now. About half. Not just the self-checkout, which I know you don't like."

Because my knees and legs have felt a bit better, I agreed to try. With the stipulation that The Pony could bring me a cart to push as I walked in. The plan was just to look around the deli department the first time. Because it's at the front of the store, by the doors. There was a dearth of handicap spaces available the first couple times we went, but I found one close to the end of a parking aisle. And the last time, we got a space next to the cart return. It was a longer walk, but there was a cart right there for me to push.

Anyhoo... we went back on Errand Day. I got an actual handicap space. And I agreed to walk unaided into the store to where the inside carts were. It was kind of a big step for me. Along with the deli, we made it halfway to the back of the store, where I was looking for some wafered ham for sandwiches and tearing up to put in a mini pizza I got from the deli.

Of course I was not happy about my shopping experience. Everywhere you turn these days are employees with tall racks of multiple bins, shopping for people who want their groceries delivered. They act all self-important. Good luck trying to squeeze in and get your own merchandise off a shelf.

Anyhoo... The Pony trotted to the other end of the store to get a couple items from the pharmacy area. Then rejoined me at the bananas, where I was trying to outmaneuver two employee-shoppers having a conversation while tending their racks of bins.

"I put my step-counter on my phone. So we can see how much we walk. Yours will probably be about half of mine, since I made that extra trip."

Once we got back to T-Hoe, The Pony checked the steps.

"I walked a half-mile. So yours was probably at least a quarter mile."

"Wow! That's a LOT for me! And I feel pretty good. It was just starting to hurt as we left, from standing in line. My bones on bones were complaining."

I know that a quarter-mile is nothing to rejoice about for a normal person. But for me, who has only been going in and out of stores for my sole exercise, this was a big deal. I imagine the running track. 440 yards around. Or for you metric people, 400 meters. I can't imagine walking that far, even pushing a cart. Yet I did. Sure, there were multiple stops along the way. But I'm impressed with myself.