WHEELCHAIRS AND RETAIL

My sister and I spend a day shopping in Newington, apparently along with hundreds of our closest friends.  I'm not a fan of Black Friday, so this sudden onslaught of random weekend crowds is slightly annoying but not too overwhelming.

After all, we have each other for company while waiting in line.

And so we are in line for the registers, probably twenty-five people deep or more, when the older woman in front of us turns and says, "I think I saw a wheelchair up front.  I might need it."

Oh boy.  We don't need any elderly shoppers dying while in queue at the check-out; that would really be a line-stopper.

We offer to go get the wheelchair, but she insists on getting it herself, so we offer to hold her place in line.  By the time she returns, we realize she is thinking wishfully as she works her way down the faces of people from the front, hoping uselessly that the line may have moved in the five minutes that she has been gone.

No such luck.

She thanks us, sits in her wheelchair, and shuffles forward every time there is movement from the front (hopefully just cashing out and not real casualties).  My sister and I continue to chat until we are almost to the registers and the woman in the wheelchair is actually next.  She turns to my sister and me and says, "I've enjoyed listening to you.  You sound like a fun family!"

My sister smiles, but I am in utter shock.  "Fun?!" I say loudly, clearly aghast.  "No one has EVER accused us of being FUN before.  You must have the wrong family."

Sis nods in agreement.  "Clearly," she confirms.

After the charming woman leaves us and after we get ourselves to a register next to her, we wait until she checks out and is through the door before glancing at each other.  While it's lovely to be complimented, it's also smart to be realistic.  We study the empty wheelchair.

"Dementia," we both say in unison.

So concludes another successful shopping adventure and confirms why we clearly shouldn't be left unsupervised in public places.