Curious Encounters with the Shopping Cart Guy

Some people, no matter how little they try, have an uncanny way of making life interesting.

Take the Shopping Cart Guy, for example. I see Shopping Cart Guy just about every time I run errands on my lunch break. He's the sort of person you want to avoid if you're in a hurry, though you can't help but talk to if you see him.

He's the sort of guy with whom conversations, no matter how short, are always tinged by a degree of awkwardness. He's the sort of guy who runs across the parking lot to ask you if you'd like a cart, and then insists you take one even if you don't really need it.

He's the sort of guy you like, even though you never really get to know him.

He's probably in his mid-60s and not, by conventional standards, "all there." When he looks at me, I feel a degree of pity that I'm almost ashamed to admit (in part because I think it's condescending of me to assume people may pick on him; in part because I suspect that — when you get right down to it — he's probably happier than I am).

Take a recent encounter, for example:

I park my car about 15 spaces over from the nearest cart carrell. Shopping Cart Guy must've sensed my presence right away (I swear this guy has an internal shopper-in-distress GPS system), because he appeared from out of nowhere with a cart as I rifled through my trunk to locate a return.

"Would you like a cart, Miss?"

"No thank you, I just have this return."

I show him a single green softball.

"You sure, Miss? Return is all the way on the other end of the store."

He looked at me with such a degree of purpose, I felt as though another negative response would somehow ruin his day, crush his hopes and dreams, and thrust him into an existential crisis.

"Oh, sure," I said, "Why not?"

I took the cart he offered me; thanked him; and wheeled my softball to the return counter as he smiled and bid me a good day.

I told him to do the same.

Today I made another visit to the same store to pick up a few miscellaneous items. I saw Shopping Cart Guy as I turned into the parking lot. He had several carts lined up, but his return inside had apparently been hampered by an older, blue-haired lady who was, without question, flirting with Shopping Cart Guy. I could only assume that his kindness had been misinterpreted as a come-on and, before he even knew what was happening, he was pulled into a conversation while countless shoppers wandered aimlessly past in search of available carts.

Much to my dismay, a man I normally assumed was hungry for conversation was apparently as perturbed as he was flattered by the distraction. This resulted in a sort of internal conflict that evidenced itself in his movements as I and other shoppers walked by.

He'd motion towards a cart, and then pull back. He'd try to make eye contact with shoppers, touch one of the carts, and then hold up his right hand to wave hello... all the while this look of desperation sat upon his face.

When I saw him inside a little bit later — wheeling a row of carts into place — he was still visibly distraught. It wasn't until later, when I walked back out to my car and found him helping a woman buckle her toddler into the cart seat, that homeostasis had been sufficiently restored.