Friday afternoon grocery shopping just outside the main gate of the air force base: I stopped to look at a product. An very tall, very wide airman dressed in fatigues said, “Excuse me.” I took a step to the left. He grabbed something from the shelf, dropped it in the cart and pushed it away. Only problem is, it was my cart — and my purse was in it.
“Hey! That’s my cart!” I said, hustling after the fellow. He turned into the dairy isle. I was forced to give way for an elderly shopper who took far too long walking around the gigantic airman and the shopping cart. The airman added milk to the cart and moved to the eggs. I caught up to him. “Wait!” I said.
He added eggs to my cart as I grabbed the side of the basket. He looked at me in stern disapproval and then glanced down at my hand — which was lifting my purse from the cart. I smiled and quipped, “It really doesn’t match your outfit.” The airman responded, “Ulp.”
Still smiling I looked way up, up, up at him and said, “I was afraid for a minute I was going to have to tackle your ankle.” His face flushed bright red. He turned on the heel of his spit-shined boot and stalked away.
Poor man. If he’s going to wander around in public while his brain is absent without leave, he really should grow a sense of humor.