The magical dysfunctional carriage reserved for me

It never fails. Why I always seem to end up with the crippled carriage at a grocery store is beyond me. Tens upon tens, if not hundreds, of carriages and I end up with the one with a jammed wheel.

Of course, the ones I get don't reveal themselves up front. No. That would be too easy. If it were, I'd change it immediately and let some old lady deal with it. By the time the little caged suckers decide to veer off into the pickle jars, I'm too late into my route. It's too much of a hassle transferring garlic and kiwis.

So there I am, by free will, battling to keep control of a fricken carriage while trying to look as though it's not bothering me when in fact I am puzzled by the absurdity of it all.

Wait. It gets better. If I have more than one bag, I leave them in the carriage and push it to my car. Try doing that in heavy wet snow - and a crippled carriage.

Don't get me going on the parking.

I'm just saying.