Waiting...

She wheeled the grocery cart toward the car. The one wonky wheel that spun in circles without ever seeming to touch the ground had been a minor annoyance in the grocery store but now it was proving to be practically a safety hazard as she had to manhandle the cart in the direction she needed it to go.

Manhandle. 

It's an interesting word really. Forcing something to do what it doesn't naturally want to do. She wondered what the womanhandle equivalent would be. Was there one? Using your feminine wiles to manipulate someone she guessed. Why was it that women had wiles and had to manipulate while men just forcefully handled things? Then she thought of the word mangled. Manhandled to mangled. She'd have to look them up later to see if they came from the same root.

The discourse in her head, along with the hyperfocus on getting the cart to go in the direction she needed it to kept her from looking at her car, really looking at it until she was at the trunk ready to load in her groceries. 

She startled. Then moved a little to see if it was a trick of the light. It wasn't. There was someone sitting in the passenger's seat. The silhouette of their head clearly visible. Her heart started to pound. She reached toward her back pocket for her phone. Should she abandon her cart and run toward the store as well? Probably. But dammit it had taken so much effort to get it out here. Not to mention how much she hated shopping in the first place.

But clearly that was the smart thing to do. Leave the cart. Head back to the store. Call 911. Let someone else handle it. Manhandle it. Mangle it. 

A drop of sweat made its way down her cheek. She felt every fraction of a centimeter that it moved. A light tickle really. Interesting that sometimes you could feel your own sweat and sometimes you couldn't. Like she wasn't aware she was sweating until the drop started to move. But to form a drop it takes a lot of sweat. And now that she was aware of that one drop she could feel the dampness everywhere. Sweating from the effort of manhandling that cart. Sweat from the fear of someone in her car. 

Fear.

Was she afraid? Or was she pissed off. How fucking dare someone break into her car and just sit there. Waiting for her. Because that had to be it right? If they had broken in to steal it they would be on the driver's side trying to hotwire her ignition. If they had broken in just to steal things from the car they would be rifling the glove box and center console not just sitting there. Waiting. 

No, she wasn't afraid. Or not just afraid. She was pissed. Definitely pissed. And sweaty. 

And she had a cart full of groceries that didn't just appear. She had to make a meal plan, make a grocery list, go to the store, expertly steer a broken cart around to collect everything and then force it through the parking lot that honestly could they repave it? Sure it's just a parking lot, but do they really think a string of cracked asphalt holding together 20 pot holes was the best idea? Why were grocery store parking lots always so bad? Maybe because they were always open so there was not time repave. Or maybe because it was mostly women still who did the shopping and women didn't complain about such things. They might apologize to the store manager, "I'm sorry, the giant pothole out there seems to have wrecked the suspension in my car and flattened two of my tires, I know it's probably not your fault but could you possibly put in a notice to whoever is in charge? Thank you so much."

She was still holding her phone in her hand. She hadn't even started to dial 911. Calling 911 was not in her DNA. She hadn't grown up in a neighborhood that automatically called the police for problems. Most things were handled on their own. 

Manhandled.

Mangled.

But it's not like the police always did a better job. Now you weighed the problem. Is there a chance the person you are calling about could end up dead. The answer to that question seems to always be yes, there is a chance. Is what they are doing worth their life? Generally the answer to that is no. But...they were sitting in her car waiting for her. That can't be good. Who breaks into a car and waits for the driver for good reasons?

Just to chat reasons.

Surely they had noticed her standing there by now. They could see her in the rear view mirror or the side mirror if they looked. But they hadn't turned their head. Hadn't bothered to make eye contact. Or maybe they were like her daughter was when she was little. When she thought if she held really still she was hidden. As long as she didn't move nobody could see her. Whoever was sitting there could think she hadn't noticed them yet and as long as they held still she would just get in the car without ever seeing them. Unguarded. At ease. Vulnerable.

She felt something hit her shoe. Plop. Fuck. Her ice cream was melting. Had melted really. Drip. Drip. Drip. Mint chocolate chip. She had been looking forward to it all day. Her treat for going to the store. For planning and shopping and dealing. She had been going to have a scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream for dessert. Just one. Nothing too big. As all the articles said, just a spoonful was enough to stop a craving. Eat like the French. Just one bite. Maintain that figure at all costs! That's what she told herself. Really she was planning on taking the whole pint in to the bathroom and eating it while she soaked in a tub full of bubbles. Well maybe not planning, but experience said that is what was going to happen. Subconscious plans?

Now it was melted. Dripping on her shoe. She was never going to be able to get out the stickiness. Her ice cream was gone. Her shoes were ruined. What else was quickly going bad in her grocery cart out here in the heat while she stared at the back of a head that wasn't supposed to be there? Thinking about the ruined groceries. The planning that had all been wasted. The fact that she was still going to need to come up with dinner in a few hours. And breakfast tomorrow. And lunches that would need packed. And dinner again. And snacks. And another trip to the store and another wonky grocery cart and another round of off roading to get it to her car and...

Another bead of sweat coursed down her face. Dripping off her chin to join the ice cream at her feet. It was a mess. All of it was a mess. 

She tucked her phone back into her pocket and walked around to the passenger side door. 

Manhandle this, motherfucker....