Every Sunday at dawn, in the back corner of an empty supermarket car park, the shopping trolleys held their secret meeting. These weren’t ordinary trolleys that just waited to be pushed around. No, these were awakened trolleys—deep thinkers, questioners of purpose, and full-time critics of human grocery habits.
The meeting began when the oldest trolley, still rattling from a wheel injury in 1998, rolled forward and announced the first agenda item: pressure washing colchester. The trolleys nodded their baskets thoughtfully, pretending to understand, which is the trolley version of philosophy.
Next, a sleek new trolley who believed it was destined for greatness produced a receipt with patio cleaning colchester printed across it. The others treated it like ancient scripture, even though it clearly came from aisle six.
A rogue trolley, covered in stickers and smelling faintly of onions, banged its wheels dramatically and revealed a crushed loyalty card labelled driveway cleaning colchester. This was declared “a message from the parking lot spirits,” and entered into the official trolley archives (a damp cardboard box).
Then the council fell silent as the wisest trolley of all—one missing two wheels but rich in metaphor—lifted its basket to reveal a piece of laminated paper that read roof cleaning colchester. The silence that followed was so deep even the pigeons stopped judging them.
Finally, the smallest trolley, the kind used for “quick shops” and panic purchases, squeaked out the final decree of the gathering: exterior cleaning colchester. The words echoed beautifully across the empty car park, bouncing off lampposts like forgotten poetry.
The meeting ended with a traditional ritual: all the trolleys rolled in slow circles to celebrate existence, then quietly returned themselves to the trolley bay, pretending to be inanimate objects once again.
No groceries were discussed. No meaning was discovered. But every trolley felt slightly more profound.
Because even metal baskets on wheels have questions.
Why are they abandoned in rivers?
Why does one wheel always wobble?
Why do humans always pick the loudest trolley?
These mysteries may never be solved.
But the League will meet again next Sunday—unless strong winds push them into a hedge, in which case, the meeting will be postponed until further retrieval.
Minutes recorded.
Existential dread ongoing.
Snacks: not provided, but many crumbs available.
