Barrio Kart

Wobble-dee, Wobble-dee, Wobble…

While “I’m stacking my groceries, my cart hum like it’s tribal.

I got wheelies half shakin, that shit look like it hobble.

How your body impressive, and then your wheel dead as a fossil?”

Now that I’ve struck your ghetto nerve, let’s talk shopping carts. You may know them as “buggies” if you’re from the south, “shopping trollies” if you’re from the UK, or “shopping carriages/wagons” if you’re…umm, a Girly-Man? Anyway, have you ever grabbed a shopping cart and the poor fella is slightly handicapped? You know…the back wheel is locked into place. The front wheel ONLY turns left. The cart squeaks as it rolls. Actually it doesn’t really roll, it kinda just slides. Occasionally, it hobbles like a peg-legged prostitute. The neglected, emotionally abandoned cart doesn’t really show signs of being disabled until you are too far to return it and grab another. So, what do you do? You hope for the best, that’s what you do. You push on, leaning slightly to the left to keep the cart on a straight path. Partly pissed off that you were too lazy to walk back to exchange it. Partly pissed off that the grocery store doesn’t provide better cart maintenance. You kick the wheel relentlessly when its time to turn. You dodge traffic, nearly clipping slow, immobile, elderly people. Sometimes accidentally, sometimes on purpose. You swerve uncontrollably from side to side as you GLIDE your way down the aisle.  Eventually, the extra steering efforts tire you out and you notice yourself angrily tossing the groceries into the cart. You become annoyed at anything in your path. You give people mean looks for no reason. Even the pimply 16 year old stock-boy narrowly avoids being Falcon Punched by quickly walking away as you approach.

BUT…what happens after that long, drawn out, impossible mission is a miracle…

As you stand slightly crooked at the checkout line (because the cart just wouldn’t go straight enough, even for that LAST 5 feet!), you recount your time together. Miraculously, you start to feel a little sad for the cart. You form a bond. Like frat-boy-hopefuls after drinking urine out of each other’s mouths. You actually end up pretty proud for having accomplished such a ridiculous feat. However, the newly formed bond isn’t forever. You know that soon you’ll have to part ways. So, as you walk to your car, you say your good-byes. You smile and you enjoy the last of your loud, clunky, bumpy ride together. You bob your head along to the beat of the wheels and you think:

Spaz, spaz, spaz, spaz. Stop, now make that motherfucker Clamor Time.”

Go stupid…Go stupid….

-This Guest Post was written by ERockPerez, you can follow him on twitter @ERockPerez

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