Terrorized at Wal-Mart. No, not by an employee but the smiling face of an old lady in a motorized shopping cart. Visualize here. The husband and I are making our way from the nether regions of the parking lot, slowly, on my part. A NICE new caddy zooms past us and screeches to a halt in a handicapped parking space. The old lady checks her make-up in the pull-down mirror, hops out and slams the door. I said, "hops" out. I am barely mobile by this time of day after a long dr.'s visit and she's whistling "Dixie" in her cute little Alfred Dunner Hilary Clinton pantsuit with matching lime green shoes. I was somewhat surprised by her spryness and the handicap sticker. Oh well, one of my pet peeves, and I smile thinking she probably has some little old man at home that really needs the licence plate and she's in a hurry to get back to him at home with his oxygen and cranky hip.We approach the entrance and she is berating the old man greeter about the lack of drive-yourself carts. He toddles off to check and she stands there and answers her cell phone and delves into the high-rise purse on her arm for a compact and mirror. Back he comes and off she goes, leaving me in the dust. Eddy has left me, too, and I stroll to the indoor park benches that Wal-Mart so thoughtfully has placed for nursing home candidates like me. I hear something behind me and it's Hazel the Hateful on her cart. Some other elderly lady is in her way. Hazel motions to me to move the basket out of her way. Now I had gained the impression that the sweet old lady needs the basket for stability. I pause for a thinking moment, and Hazel calmly gets up, walks over, makes some remarks about people blocking the aisles and moves the other cart. Back she goes to her one-seater and roars past, remarking, "I would think someone young like you would help an old lady out!!"
