Supermarket trolleys are one of those items that live on that fine line between ‘life saver’ and ‘proof that whoever designed this clearly hates humanity’.

You grab what looks like a perfectly normal trolley. Four wheels. Plenty of room. The usual setup. All seems fine.

Then you start pushing it – and it’s still working. All is good with the world and you start filling it up. Then halfway through, you get to the point where you feel that resistance. And sometimes a deep metallic groan.
You pause. |
There’s no further sign of rebellion.

Once more, you start pushing your now semi-filled trolley, and suddenly discover that one wheel has its own personal agenda, and wants to explore the shop independently from the other three.

You’re trying to go straight down the cereal aisle and this rogue wheel has decided it’s more interested in the bakery section. So now you’re doing this weird diagonal shuffle, overcorrecting constantly, looking like you’re attempting some sort of improvised line dance in Aisle 5.

The harder you try to control it, the worse it gets. You’re wrestling with what should be a simple wheeled basket like you’re trying to steer a shopping cart-shaped bronco.

Other shoppers are giving you sympathetic looks.

You’re sweating. The trolley’s winning.

A small child points at you.

Their parent quickly looks away.

Somewhere between the bottled drinks and your sanity, amidst all the chaos, you hear that voice in your head.

“Maybe I should just get a different one”

But you’ve already put stuff in this one, and switching trolleys in the middle of a shop feels like admitting defeat to an inanimate object. So you persist, slowly losing your dignity between the pasta and the tinned goods.

And finally, by the time you reach checkout, your arms are knackered and you’ve accidentally taken out at least two promotional displays.

Supermarket trolleys: making basic shopping feel like an extreme sport.​​​​​​​​​​​