Remember that long day of work you had recently where nothing seemed to go your way? You slept 30 minutes past your alarm, got mustard on your button-down at lunch, the printer was out of toner, and your boss held a closed-door conversation with you about your quality of work. All you wanted to do, aside from go Ari Gold paintball gun-style on your co-workers, was head home, crack a Miller, prop your feet up, and not move until you had to do it all over again the following morning.
Then finally, 5:00 comes around and you feel a rush of freedom as you escape the fluorescent lights and hit the parking lot pavement. You get in the car, start it up, and you’re out of there. Before you even leave the parking lot, your significant other calls. “I’m gonna need you to stop at the store for me. I’m cooking spaghetti and meatballs and forgot the spaghetti,” she says.
Dumb bitch, how could you forget the goddamn spaghetti when the meal is called ‘spaghetti’ and meatballs? That’s what you think, but your real response is, “Sure thing. I’ll be home as fast as I can.” Besides, you need to reload on Millers anyway. Two birds, one shopping trip.
The store parking lot is insane, though, like a surprise announcement was blasted out all over the city earlier that day that Justin Bieber was holding a free, impromptu concert outside your go-to neighborhood grocery. The Biebs isn’t there, though. The parking lot is just filled with a thousand other miserable jerks like you who had to stop on the way home from work. You’re irritated. At this point, you’ve gotta find solace in the small things, the small victories to get you through this next 45-minute, excruciating journey.
Found it! Open parking spot — center aisle, just two over from the front row handicap spot. Things are looking up. How could I get so lucky? you think to yourself. Cars are circling this place like vultures over roadkill. Oh well, shit’s mine now. You slowly creep up and make the turn into the spot when you see it. There’s a shopping cart sitting right, square in the middle of the spot. Some lazy lowlife-scumbag-asshole-cockbag, instead of returning his cart to the cart corral like any self-respecting member of society would do, left it right in the only available spot in the whole lot. You would kill that person if you knew who it was.
Sorry, that was me. I was having a bad day, too.
Here are the different ways one returns his or her shopping cart and what it says about the day they’re having.
Return it to the corral properly.
Great day. Great mood. You killed it at work, got daps from the bossman, and flirted with the new girl in sales. You’re about to head home, change out of your monkey suit, then go grab a few well-deserved beers with the boys.
The store workers will appreciate the proper placement of my shopping cart. After all, they’re hard workers and deserve respect.
Push it toward the corral from 10 feet out.
You had a solid day. It’s wasn’t great, but you have no complaints. You’re about to head home, crush some cardio, turn on the tube, and settle in for the night. You recorded a promising looking Lifetime movie. You’re gonna give it a shot.
Meh, I’m close enough. I wonder if I shove my cart toward that that one from here, it’ll have enough momentum to lock into it from behind… Nope.
Pop the front two wheels over the nearest curb so it doesn’t roll anywhere.
Very mediocre day. Very bleh. It’s one of those Peter Gibbons days where you contribute very little, maybe put in about half an hour of real work while dreaming up obscure and outlandish ways to rip off your company and escape to a tiny island in the Caribbean somewhere. It’s all just a coping mechanism, though. You know your ass will be planted in the same pleather seat the following morning. The only reason you’re stopping at the store is to buy a case of beer and attempt to drink all of it while forgetting the day.
You want my cart, asshole? You can come get it!
Leave it in the available spot right next to your car.
Shitty, shitty day. You had a performance review with your boss that resulted in a “We just want more outta you” conclusion. Meanwhile, your weaselly cube neighbor Thomas came out of his with glaring remarks. He’s telling you all about it. You want to choke him out. You’re not even sure if you’re going to have this job after the next layoffs are handed down. And frankly, you’re not even sure if you deserved this job. You probably don’t. Okay, you don’t. You suck at your job. But your job sucks, too. Can you get another job? A better one? Probably not.
I hope this pisses someone off. I hope Thomas tries to park here next, that brown-nosing twat. Fuck that guy. Fuck whoever tries to park here next.
Aimlessly and aggressively shove it out into the parking lot.
Worst day of your life.
I hope this hits the side of a fucking car and maybe even takes out a small child.