A relative years ago shared that “… the fundamental unit of humanity is insanity.” I find no chink in her argument. People are nuts. This is good for me because I am paid handsomely for pointing out the obvious.
There’s this single mom who works just over the hill in Los Angeles. Leslie Dobson made national headlines for confessing, on social media, that she does not return shopping carts. Better? If anyone, and “anyone” would include the clergy, kindly grandmothers with bad tickers or the saintliest of professions — air conditioner repairmen — didn’t like that she doesn’t return shopping carts, they could just go be fruitful and multiply without the benefit of kissing their occasionally tolerated life’s partner.
Now. Before you paint a mental picture of a daft homeless scruffy-duffian with no teeth who talks to traffic lights, Leslie Dobson is a clinical and forensic psychologist. She went on TikTok and Instagram to opine:
“I’m not returning my shopping cart, and you can judge me all you want,” she said. “I’m not getting my groceries into my car and getting my children into the car and then leaving them in the car. So if you’re going to give me a dirty look, ‘f-asterisk-asterisk-asterisk’ off.”
Of course, Dr. Les used the actual woman-empowering F-bomb.
Her post garnered nearly 12 million views, some 400,000 likes and more than 100,000 comments. Amen boy howdy it would be a slow day at the bubble gum factory for me to write a comment about returning shopping carts. An entire column? That’s a different story.
It’s not that Dr. Dobbie was bungie-cording the shopping cart to her Volvo and trailering it to Palmdale, where they pay $1,500 for used grocery wagons, no questions asked. Nor was she giving them a hefty push into oncoming traffic.
Dr. Dobson later returned to the internet’s purgatorial outpost to explain why she DIDN’T return shopping carts. She was a single mom, with two little kids. The good brain scientist won’t leave her offspring unattended in the car for even a nanosecond. She pointed out that, “Last year, 265 children were abducted in parking lots in America, half of those were sexually assaulted. As a single mom returning your shopping cart, you are prime for a predator to watch and grab you.”
And the howls from the ethereal monkey cage reached fever pitch. Many supported Dr. D. Others painstakingly pointed out that she could have unloaded the groceries, kept the kids in the cart, return the cart to narrow cart corral, then walked, dragged or fireman-carried the little ones back to the minivan, 1956 souped-up Chevy Bel Air, Harley Davidson Fatboy or whatever means of transportation she was piloting. All that was missing from the comments section was that she should have climbed on the roof of her car carrying binoculars and a poison dart gun and scan the concrete horizon of the Piggly Wiggly for serial killers or people who look like serial killers.
I have a lengthy list of locals who look like serial killers. Signal management doesn’t allow me to publish it, nor, identify who sits atop the list.
Wink. Call me.
This is a bit off topic. But I’ve noticed that most grocery stores post signs outside the entrance, announcing they don’t support beggars, yangy Girl Scout cookie sellers or petitioners begging support for Santa Clarita’s return to the Spanish monarchy. BUT, the grocers never post a public service announcement saying they don’t cotton to serial killers.
Dear Mr. Santa Clarita Valley —
I’ve WANTED to post a sign, warning about the unusually large population of people in the parking lot, who, as you previously mentioned, LOOK like serial killers. Alas, the powerful local Box Peoples’ Union No. 386, who are the spitting image of serial killers, would put up a fuss. Oh. Before I forget? Refried beans, 64-ounce can? On sale starting Thursday. Not our fault, but it’s all a citizen can afford to eat these days under wingnut state and federal policies.
Best wishes for your continued success,
Bob, Night Manager
Piggly Wiggly’s on Lyons
Thank you, Bob. See you Thursday bright and early for Yummy Refried Bean (singular) Day.
Back to Leslie. She attracted a lot of grief for her X-rated position on abandoning shopping carts to rot in the hot parking lot, improperly aligned. But then, being a forensic psychologist, you’d think she’d have the wherewithal to backtrack a shopping cart’s steps. One anonymous commentator had an adroit observation on the nature of humanity and our squeaky wheeled friend, the wire grocery hauler. Light years down in the comment section, they noted, “The shopping cart is the ultimate litmus test for whether a person is capable of self-governing.”
I wonder what sort of message the good doctor is sending to her two tiny children, the youngest being 3? Are we coddling this next generation? Isn’t 3 old enough for a child to navigate traffic, be aware of creeps, hazards and bottomless potholes and push a grocery cart back by themselves? Cripes. They’ve got wheels. The carts. Not the kids.
Personally? I don’t return carts, either. It’s not like I laugh maniacally and weld them to fire hydrants or flip them upside down in the handicap parking spaces.
I’m pro-labor. And, an ex-box boy.
Here. Follow my logic. If you return your cart to the chute, yes, it makes it easier for the highly trained bagging engineer to round them up. Seems innocent enough. But, that ends up cutting their hours and paychecks. That’s why I throw my shopping cart in the trunk and drive 70 miles where I abandon them in the Mojave Desert.
This simple kind act means the box boy or box girl or box preferred pronoun can bring home an extra $2,500 each day, where, in Sisyphusian fashion, they push said offending cart all the way back to Newhall, much of that uphill, in the slow lane of Highway 14 …
John Boston is the most prolific satirist in world history. Do pick up his hilarious, “Unauthorized Autobiography of Joe Biden” at johnbostonbooks.com.