Attention Shoppers! Get Out of the Way!

Michelle Momper

During the last seven days, I’ve come dangerously close to taking out a child’s kneecaps, causing mayhem in the middle of Target, and offending dozens of senior citizens. I think that’s a personal record. Here’s what happened:

I recently had surgery on my foot. It was to save a ruptured ligament or tendon or something of the sort. I really didn’t care what was ruptured, I just wanted it fixed. I wanted to be pain-free, and able to walk like a human, and not some wretched creature from a Sci-Fi film.

So in I went, with my trusted surgeon, an anesthesiologist/comedian with wonderful narcotics, and a dressing gown no thicker than a paper towel. Four hours later, I was relaxing peacefully at home with a bound-up foot the size of a watermelon, and an arsenal of pain medications.

A week later, I was ready to face the world. I had a temporary handicap tag for my car, and I had mastered what I like to call the Igor Shuffle (thud, scraaaaape, thud, scraaaaape). So off I went to Target, with children in tow, to take advantage of a swimsuit sale.

For starters, let it just be said that one of my pet-peeves is when people take advantage of handicapped parking spaces. You know, when you see someone park, then waltz, tap-dance and gallop their way into the store. So driving up legitimately to a blue space was a little daunting. I exited the car as if a S.W.A.T. team was waiting for me. Hands up in the air, I discreetly pointed to my temporary tag and stuck my boot-bound foot out.

“I’m getting out of the car,” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “I really am hurt … I can hardly walk. Please put your weapons down,” I added, just in case any law-abiding activist/sniper was spying on me from afar. I told my kids, “If anything suddenly happens to mommy, just run in and get help.” There’s nothing like sparking fear in a child right before a shopping trip.

Once safely inside, I limped straight to the motorized scooters. Since this was my first time, I had to take pause to figure out what to do. I knew I had to unplug it (Duh! Scooter 101), but I wasn’t sure how to get it to go. After a short tutoring session with my seven-year-old, I got the baby revved up and ready to go.

I want to go on record and say Target’s motorized carts are to die for. They are fast, they can turn on a dime, and the seat is very comfortable. So as we head out to conquer our shopping list, my nine-year-old daughter is rolling her eyes and praying that we don’t run into anyone we know. I’m giggling, because well, I’m having fun. My son is trying to hold my hand while I try to maneuver through the pharmaceuticals. I soon realized I was in for a challenging experience.

First of all, my giggling and joking was, quite frankly, offensive to a group of Seniors who were shopping for wares. And rightly so. They looked at me as though I was a piece of gum on their Naturalizers, and I don’t blame them. I’m sorry for being glib as I experienced my first excursion. Please forgive me.

I then tackled the girl’s swimsuit section. This is where it got nasty. My daughter, being my daughter, darted and scrambled from clothing rack to clothing rack, salivating over two-pieces with matching skirts. I tried to keep up. I took out a rack of spring dresses, and then while reversing out of the mess (beep…beep…beep) I ran into my son. Whack! Right on the knees. He started crying, my daughter was wailing, and the sales clerk called for security. I maneuvered the scooter out into the aisle where I side-swiped an orange cart, tried to make a u-turn and knocked a row of silky pajamas to the floor. Security was closing in.

“Quick, kids. Grab the suits and run,” I said as I throttled the cart and deserted the scene. I’m pretty sure I’m banned from the children’s department forever.

Ultimately, I made it out of the store with purchases and children intact. I was flustered, and had a new respect for all who have difficulty getting around. So if you happen to see me out and about with my booted foot, I have one thing to say. Run.