Time To Scoot!

(Earlier last year, I was struck by a car while in a crosswalk. I came out of it none the worse for wear, though I managed to break my leg, leaving me in a cast for close to three months while various parts of the bone and tendons finally healed. I managed to get around pretty well on crutches, but sometimes this would get tiring when I’d go shopping. This little incident happens at one of the local grocery stores. Heading in with my friend to pick up some needed things around the house, I take one of those mobility scooters and place my crutches where I can get to them. With that done, I head into the store to do the shopping. I’ve put five or six things in the basket when I am approached by a young clerk and a woman.)

Clerk: “You’re going to have to get out of the chair.”

Me: “Uh… Why?”

Clerk: “That’s for people who are disabled; this lady needs it.”

Me: “Then she can get one out front. I can’t exactly walk.”

Clerk: “I don’t care.”

(He starts moving my stuff into a buggy and reaches for my crutches.)

Me: *almost in tears* “I can’t walk, mate. I’m in a cast.”

Clerk: “You need to get out.”

(The woman has this smug look on her face the whole time, even as I manhandle my cast over and struggle up onto the crutches. I am in tears by this point. Leaving the cart where it is, I hobble up front, passing my friend on the way. He sees me upset and “walking,” so he wants to know what’s going on. I tell him we need to see the manager right then and there, but won’t explain. The manager comes out of his office, sees me upset, and quickly helps me into a chair, wanting to know what’s wrong and if he needs to call EMT services or something for me. I explain to him why I’m upset, what happened, and how I can’t shop there any longer. To put it simply, he is LIVID. He quickly calls the clerk up front and says:)

Manager: “I want your side of this. Now, let me get this straight. Did you eject this customer, who obviously has a broken leg, from a mobility cart so someone else could ride it?”

Clerk: “It’s a fa—“

Manager: “I want a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.”

Clerk: “But… fine. Yeah. So what? He can walk.”

Manager: “Walk? Oh, you mean hobble around in pain? Yeah, I suppose he can do that. You’re going to be walking, too. You’re fired. Now gather your crap, and I don’t want to ever see you in my store again. Got it?”

(The clerk muttered something and sulked out. The manager asked where I’d left my buggy, and if I could identify the woman that took the cart. I did the best I could on both counts. He told me to just rest in the chair with my foot up while he would make things right. His store wasn’t about to be remembered for such behavior. About fifteen minutes later, he returned, everything in the cart bagged, and told us to take it as compensation for the trouble. He even helped me out to the car. As we left, I noticed the woman sulking outside, complaining that she was disabled, and how dare they bar her from using the mobility carts. I still shop there regularly, and the manager makes it a point to always ask how I’m doing and if there’s anything I need. I’ve also seen the lady there twice, and both times she is staring rather forlornly at the carts. A sign above them reads, “The management reserves the right to remove you from these carts if it is determined you are NOT eligible for them.”)