He drove into the parking aisle in the wrong direction and swung his car into the space I was driving to. I could tell he was elderly. The white and balding head and his demeanor in the car was a clue. This was Mr. Curmudgeon.
I went around to another space and could see him getting out of his car. He was moving slow, a little stooped and bow-legged. He was carrying a cane. He wasn’t using the cane, mind you, just carrying it, much the same way as a lady might carry a purse, hooked over his arm.
I walked a little behind Mr. Curmudgeon, deciding to give him some space. Let him win. Besides, I didn’t want to get caught in the revolving door at the grocery store with him. I watched him push the door as he slowly entered, giving him a just little extra space before I took my turn.
I waited while he tried to get a grocery cart. He pulled a cart. Then he pulled again. The carts were jammed together, as they often are in a grocery store. Why is that?
Mr. Curmudgeon tried one more time and then, taking the crook of his cane in his right hand, he grasped the cart’s handle with his left hand and proceeded to push on the second cart firmly with his cane, the tip shoving the cart’s handle. To my surprise, the carts separated, and I audibly exhaled an “aha” to which Mr. Curmudgeon turned slyly around in a slow motion move and looked at me, with a boyish grin, and as he walked away I swear I detected just a little spring to his step.
He reminded me of Mr. Magoo!
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