My Life as a Shopping Cart

            Those who are in wheelchairs, or really have anything physically wrong with them knows the “look”.  The look that a passerby gives you that says, “Oh you poor thing.  Something is wrong with you, you must have such a sorry existence.”  To those people I’d like to say, “Thank you Captain Obvious! Yes my legs don’t work, but the rest of me is just fine.  I live the kind of life they make happy little Hallmark movies about.”  I’m not bitter about those looks though (really I’m not), I actually feel bad for those people that believe that since I’m in a wheelchair I have absolutely no life.

            Do you want to know the place I receive the “look” most often?  Walmart.  Most kids like going grocery shopping with their mom’s to see what sort of tasty snack they can con their mom into buying for them.  However I like to tag along on those shopping trips so I can see how much we can fit in the cart.  What I mean by that is to see how many awkwardly shaped items we can fit on my lap.  Typically my mom goes to the store with a list (as if only those items will get bought – HA!) and she always asks, “Emily do we need a cart or can you handle this?”.  I usually say I can handle it because I’m lazy and would rather have her push, and I love the challenge of it.

            As we go through the store we pile on the usual things; canned goods that sit on my footrest, a couple of boxed items that get stacked on my lap, maybe some frozen veggies which fill in the gaps, etc.  When we get to the larger items (like the pack of 30 rolls of toilet paper) things get interesting.  Filling the cart becomes a full on race to the finish instead of a nice little puzzle.  As more and more items get stacked upon my lap I lose the ability to see in front of me, I can no longer do anything with my hands because they’re keeping the multipack of Kleenex from sliding and denting the two loaves of bread, and I can’t feel my arm anymore do to the four bags of frozen peas I’m holding.

            Don’t you dare think about giving me the “look” even though it looks like I might be experiencing some sort of obscure torture treatment.  I love being the cart even if it looks like I’m miserable.  See here’s the thing about us disabled folks – we have the same desire to help out.  I can’t hop in the car and drive to the store for my mom and pick up what she needs, but I can carry everything on her list (and then some) around the store and into the house.  Also I have to admit it’s pretty entertaining trying to fit everything on my lap or my chair (two gallons of milk can be nicely hung on my handle bars).  It’s funny to think carrying a bunch of stuff around the store could bring joy, but it does – at least to me.