It's been brought to my attention recently (in one swift movement which left my heels bleeding), that trolley rage in supermarkets and malls is not, as some may have assumed — extinct. I know this because I was victim to such a crime several weekends ago.

It was a busy Saturday and the mall was packed (being payday and slightly overcast). I wondered around aimlessly, trying desperately to find something to spend my salary on...

It was still early on in the shopping expedition, thus my stress levels were fairly low and I could have quite possibly been humming along to the Christmas tunes (yes, it's October and they were playing Christmas tunes), without a care in the world.

The dreaded aisles

I had been in and out of a few shops, rather unsuccessfully, and found myself pointed in the direction of Woolies. After trying on a number of garments (all of which aged me by 40 years), I decided to buy a few groceries for the rest of the weekend.

Little did I know, as I entered the food section, I had actually signed up for the October Trolley Rage Festival, and would soon turn from a peaceful shopper into a crazed, foam-at-the-mouth, white-eyed lunatic, commonly seen flying around corners with trolley on two wheels and bits of heel dragging behind me...

After trying desperately to get through the fruit and vegetable section, pushing the trolley through a gap smaller than what that stretchy guy from Fantastic Four can slip through, I moved onto the bread aisle. I quickly snapped up one of the last two packets of bread rolls and was about to make a swift getaway when I was severely crippled from behind.

Oh the pain...

The pain that soared through my body, piercing the very most inner cortex of my brain, numbed my ability to think and I was left hanging over the front of my trolley with my face quite literally, in the last available packet of rolls, now completely squashed and irreparable.

Seconds passed and I collected myself, in the process realising what had just happened. Some impatient bitch of a woman behind me had raced her trolley into my unsuspecting heels in a gesture for me to move along, so that she could get to the end of the aisle.

What happened to politely asking, patting someone on the back, or simply going a different route? The woman, whom was rather tall, well dressed and snooty-looking, walked by without even stopping to sympathise or apologise.

White knuckles and throbbing forehead

The rage that welled up in my body was harrowing and resulted in a severe case of white knuckles and throbbing-forehead-vein syndrome. The blood vessels in my eyes popped simultaneously, and my vision was soon painted with slightly red overtones. All from one persons inconsiderate gesture and painful execution of it.

My only option seemed obvious — revenge. I nimbly gained ground, darting in between trolleys, crying children and arguing spouses, and zoned in on my target.

Without giving myself away, I casually (yet cunningly and elaborately planned) gazed curiously at the dog food at shoulder height, whilst gaining speed in the direction of the snob in front of me.

Simple satisfaction

The connection was astounding and the small yelp out of the victim's mouth was everything that defines the word satisfying. She turned, with a familiar look on her face, something I recognised from seconds earlier in my very own eyes, and glared down upon me. All I could do was grin. And not in a, "your-baby-is-so-cute" way, but in a more distinctive "up yours bitch" way.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there!" (sickly-sweet grin on face, voice syrupy with evil glee).

I leant over, grabbed a tin of some form of cat or dog food, and teetered off — victorious. My revenge had been sweet, yet a savage reaction, something that actually worried me a few minutes afterwards.

I had lost control, something had swept over my body, an alien had infected my brain with evil thoughts and cunning master plans, all as a reaction to being hit by some selfish shopper's trolley.

A moment of panic and regret

I started to feel bad, and I mean really bad. Maybe she hadn't even meant it. In a dazed state I gently pushed my trolley towards the queue, unaware of the rattle of a trolley picking up speed behind me. What if I had really hurt her, or what if she had weak bones or a severed Achilles tendon already? Could she sue me? Maybe I should go and find her.

The sound of one thousand fingernails being scraped violently across a chalkboard does little to compare to the pain that hit me next. I turned, expecting a man with an axe hacking away at my heels, but instead, was greeted by Miss Snooty herself. And there we both stood, spit in the corners of our mouths, anger seething out of each and every pore. Any remorse I felt melted away and instead transformed itself into a rage so deep and dark — Hades himself quivered in the Underworld…

The final showdown

The story does not end with a showdown involving me over turning the snobs trolley and kicking her in the shins. Sadly, after a brief stare off, we both precisely turned and marched off in our directions we came from.

Nothing was achieved, nothing gained (bar a highly stressful shopping experience). I guess the real question though, is how does one cope with the rage, surely I am not the only person who loses it when someone drives the back of their trolley into my legs? Or am I alone? And why do we allow ourselves to get so worked up over such small things, surely there is a rational and civil manner of dealing with trolley rage?

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