The Cart With Its Own Agenda

I was at the grocery store the other day, when I grabbed a cart and headed toward the produce section. You know, apples, lettuce, and that one package of something I tell myself I “need” but usually forget by the time I get to the checkout.

That’s when I noticed it. The front-left wheel of my cart was doing a little jig. Not a polite, civilized jig, either. It was the kind of wheel that had dreams and no intention of sticking to the plan. Every few feet, it would catch on the tile and make the whole cart veer sideways like it had somewhere far more exciting to be than the broccoli aisle.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. Maybe I’d had too much coffee, or the world tilted slightly to the northeast. But no, that wheel had opinions, and it made them loud.

I tried the polite approach. I nudged the cart, I gave it a little tap, I whispered encouragement like it was a timid puppy: “Come on now, let’s go straight. Just straight. You can do it.”

The wheel ignored me. It spun off on its own, toward the bread aisle, dragging a half-empty box of crackers like it was leading a parade.

Other shoppers began to notice. Some stepped aside, cautiously watching my battle with this rebellious grocery device.

One lady shook her head at me with the kind of pity usually reserved for toddlers attempting to build a sandcastle with wet cement. I considered explaining the situation, but it seemed easier to let the cart have its moment of glory.

By the time I reached the canned goods, the wheel had developed a complete personality. I swear it was plotting.

It wasn’t just wobbling anymore; it was pivoting, spinning, and occasionally getting caught on the seam between two tiles with a loud clang that echoed down the aisle. I could hear the faint laughter of my vegetables, or maybe that was just my imagination.

I found myself talking to it like a horse I was trying to train. “Listen,” I said, “I don’t care if you’ve got somewhere to be, but we’re shopping. We stick together, or we don’t go anywhere.”

For a moment, I thought it understood. Then it swung me hard into the pickle display. I will admit, the pickles were remarkably resilient. A few jars wobbled dangerously but didn’t fall, which I took as a small victory.

After five more minutes of this circus act, I realized the cart wasn’t my enemy. It taught me patience, humility, and the importance of being mindful of where I step in a grocery store.

I started adjusting my stance, leaning just so, letting it guide me when it wanted and nudging it when I needed. Slowly, we developed a rhythm—me and the wild, untamed wheel.

By the time I made it to checkout, I had half the items I’d planned, a mild bruise on my shin, and an odd sense of accomplishment. I even patted the wheel. “Good job,” I said. “We made it. Together.”

And for a brief, glorious moment, it stopped wobbling entirely, like it understood that we were partners now.

As I pushed the cart toward the exit, I noticed the security camera blinking above. I imagined the footage later: a lone shopper battling a rogue cart, vegetables flying, crackers scattered like confetti.

Somewhere, a grocery store employee would tell a coworker, “You should’ve seen that one. Pure chaos.”

And I’d smile quietly to myself because sometimes, chaos teaches you more than a perfectly smooth ride ever could. I left the store that day lighter in spirit, if not in the wallet, and somewhere behind me, a wheel spun freely, dreaming of its next adventure.