Gert walked into the grocery store clutching her cane, as though it were the one object that kept her stapled to the earth. A magnet that, if released, would plunge to the core of the earth and fling Gert the opposite direction, into orbit. She stood in the air-conditioned buzz of the store and made her way to the motorized cart area. Typically there is a row of at least two or three along the store’s front wall, but that day there were none.
Bewildered, and feeling a bit lost, Gert canvassed the narrow glimpses of customers. In doing so, she spotted a middle-aged woman on a cell phone, riding around with ease in a motorized cart. With no obvious handicap, other than grotesque obesity, the woman looked greedy for driving the cart. No cast, no crutches, just a basket full of frozen pizza and boxed junk food. Gert felt slighted at the sight of the woman.
“Excuse me, young man?” Gert asked a male employee no older than 17 with shaggy hair flopping against his face as he sped along the polished floor. No response. Gert noticed a slight turn of the head as he walked by, as if he had heard himself addressed and decided he’d rather continue walking. He pushed his way through a door marked, “Employees Only.”
Moments later, from the same door, emerged a trio of older men. As they split, presumably from their lunch break, one of them wearing a blue dress shirt and tie walked in Gert’s direction. His dress shirt showed people that he was in charge of at least a portion of the store’s operation, but the name tag around his neck – identical in style to all store employees – made him seem more approachable. This man approached her rather than her reaching out to him. “Can I help you find something, ma’am?” the man asked her with a practiced look on his face. It was then that Gert realized that she must have looked silly standing where she was, in the middle of a high traffic area of the store. People had been steering their carts around her since she entered the store.
“Yes. Haven’t you got any of those battery powered carts around?”
The man’s head turned automatically to the empty place where they are usually parked. He then looked in a second direction, likely a secondary location where they seem to end up sometimes. “You know, I don’t see any around. Sometimes people leave them outside when they get in their cars; I’ll go check. I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” Gert was pleased with the man’s effort, and a full-dentured smile appeared on her face. He had a kind way of speaking, like he’d been handling dilemmas similar to this one for decades. Gert backed out of the flow of grocery cart traffic to wait.
When the man walked back inside she could tell he hadn’t had any luck. His lips were pursed until he opened them, shook his head and said, “Well there aren’t any outside either, ma’am.” He left the end of the sentence in a way that said so Gert, “Don’t know what to tell ya,” without being so blunt.
“Oh, well, that’s fine. I’m sure they’re expensive machines. Can’t expect you to have a dozen of them!”
The man nodded with his hands on his hips and said simply, “Yeah,” elongating the end of the word, suggesting regret for the inconvenience.
“I’ll just sit and wait for one to be returned. Thanks for your help,” and she looked at his chest for his name tag, adding, “Gary.”
“Not a problem, ma’am. Sorry again,” and he walked away.
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