That's my place!
Hmmm... shopping carts. Now that brings back some unusual memories.
I got a job while in Jr high, of collecting shopping carts, parking lot cleanup and other stuff.
I noticed some older folks walking off the property with a cart or two and followed one of them to a one floor housing complex. The carts were leaning supports as much as a holder for their meager purchases.
Well... let me tell you... the pecking order of who's-who, in the complex, was an education that served me well later on.
There were markers of sort, where these carts were left, outside every entrance. Some even had names on them, like Mike, Tony, and some were creative like... Sarge, USMC only, and things like that.
I was about to collect some carts that I saw, when out of nowhere came this
group of old guys, and they didn't look too happy. My store apron gave me away and it was obvious that I was after the carts. This one old guy, I swear he came in rug sizes - 9X12, blocked out the sun and asked... "what-ca do'n with my basket?" The old man had tattoos up and down his arm of some paratrooper thing, and I slowly backed away. The entire crowd reminded me of an old movie where the town folks gather up this winding road heading to a castle with torches and pitchforks looking for the evil doctor.
I left the carts and thought to myself... " These people are like a cult.. yeah, that's it, the shopping cart cult."
I'm walking back to the store when I hear.. " whose the new guy?"
Somebody parked a cart in somebody's cart spot. Yup... torches and pitchforks.