death of a granny cart

remember that post i made the other day, about running errands & cleaning the house & sometimes a little homemaking maintenance activity can help relieve my stress & anxiety? i wrote a lot about the wire granny cart that i brought with me from boston. i used it to take recycling to the recycling depot, tote groceries home from the store, & transport laundry to & from the laundromat. i bought that cart at a little independent hardware shop in boston when i moved into a house that didn’t have on-site laundry facilities, so i could lug laundry to the laundromat. i also used it to move once, when i was re-locating to a (roommate-free, one-bedroom) apartment a few blocks down the street. me & that cart have been through a lot together.

i was using it this evening, to bring another round of groceries home. jared was with me & i was pulling it up awful part of 12th st. between vermont & kentucky that is paved with bricks. suddenly the entire cart listed to the right & made a horrible scraping noise. i shrieked & looked down. the right wheel had completely fallen off the cart & was lying on the bricks! jared & i had to pick the whole contraption up, still laden with $65 worth of groceries, & carry it home in a style reminiscent of a pantomime horse.

farewell, old friend.

actually, jared may have macgyvered it back into action using a key ring & a washer. he is very concerned that we won’t be able to find a replacement wire cart in kansas, even though i am pretty sure that there are grandmas who need wire carts in every state in this nation. the coasts may have the market cornered on young people such as ourselves using wire carts to run errands that would be a million times easier to do with a car, but i’m not convinced that we are actually the target demographic.

i took a city bus yesterday, for maybe the third or fourth time since i moved to kansas (over four months ago). i had to go to the copy shop, & the one with the best prices & fastest copy machines is out in the awful suburban strip mall big box store part of town. it’s sandwiched between an applebee’s & a best buy, for real. you can understand why i don’t make the trek on a regular basis. it’s pretty depressing out there. on the way back downtown, the bus crossed campus & picked up a few groups of college students. at one stop, a young blonde college couple got on, with the girl decked out in her urban outfitters finest (you know, a little cotton tunic that provides no warmth & a fashion sweater knit with glittery yarn that can’t possibly be functional, sporting a cute little bob haircut) & the dude looking like he was on his way to a mountain goats in-store appearance (shaggy hair & dark-rimmed glasses, wearing jeans with a boho flare & a retro denim jacket–it was all very, “i only like OBSCURE beatles songs,” if you know what i mean).

they immediately started chattering away at volumes that obscured my ability to think rationally, with rape jokes. no shit. because rape is so hilarious? the dude was all, “do i look like a rapist? do i? i mean, come on. of course i don’t.” i wanted to smack the smug right off his ugly face & ask him what the hell he thinks a rapist “looks like”. they eventually tired of this topic & moved on to making fun of bob dylan, because, you know, that’s a relevant avenue of conversation here on the cusp on 2010. after about twenty minutes solid of them speaking at volumes more appropriate to a monsters of rock stadium concert, i snapped. “hey!” i said. they looked around vaguely, as if perhaps the sound had come from their over-priced, glue-soled, kimchi blue fashion boots. “use your inside voices. you’re in a public place,” i said. they stared at me in blessed silence & got off at the very next stop.

just a word to the wise: when you are an undergraduate living in a university town, your parents’ money may trick the city planners into thinking that the city public transit system can function best as a glorified university shuttle bus. but that does not mean that the city bus is an outpost of your skunky pot-reeking, davendra banheart poster-encrusted, pizza box- & hamm’s can-littered dorm room.

my tattoo consultation is tomorrow! you know, for my tattoo that says, “if you have nothing nice to say, come sit here by me,” flanked by angry pterodactyls. i think i have really earned it this week. though, if i can’t keep my temper in check while riding the bus, i may find myself with a dorm room of my own–at shady pines retirement home.

get the hell off my lawn & stop stealing my newspaper!

Published by Ciara

Ciara Xyerra wrote zines for the better part of two decades. She has a brilliant & adorable preschooler named Ramona & sews as much as she possibly can. She lives in Lawrence, Kansas with her boyfriend. She enjoys catching up on "The New Yorker", meatball subs, keeping it cranky, intersectional post-third wave feminism, dinosaurs, & monsters. If you have nothing nice to say, she recommends that you come sit here by her, so you can say not-nice things together.

2 thoughts on “death of a granny cart

  1. Awful bus stories! There is this dude that is often on the same bus as me on weekday mornings and he have the loudest, most obnoxious conversations I’ve ever heard. He is usually accompanied by a quiet friend. The first time I came across them, they were behaving so ridiculously that I was convinced it was a social experiment and that there were hidden cameras in the bus. They were talking about a friend and said, “Did you see the way he held the door for all those girls? What a faggot!” And things of that nature. It’s just terrible. I’ve been tempted to write down all of their conversations because they are just so overtly offensive that it’s unbelievable. The dude once spent the 20-minute ride talking about how big and strong he is because he’s into kickboxing and he can kick anyone’s ass. He then added, “There are girl-fighters too, but they’re obviously dykes.” And he once went on a tirade on how much he hates French-speakers (um, we’re in Quebec). I could go on forever!

  2. I am exactly the person who should own and use a granny cart, but I can’t get up the courage to do it. Probably because I feel like doing so would make my invisible illness visible.

    Condolences on your loss.

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