There is no ethical consumption under capitalism — but there is the grocery cart return.
And if you’re not participating in this absurd, sacred rite, then brother... you’re spiritually feral.
You know the ones. You’ve seen them. The people who, upon unloading their bags into the trunk, cast a casual glance toward the cart corral... and walk away. Just leave it there. In the middle of the lot. As if the laws of physics and civility no longer apply to them. As if the cart will politely teleport home like a good little AI drone.
These are not people. These are entropy enthusiasts. Agents of chaos. Philosophical cowards in cargo shorts.
Returning the grocery cart is the lowest-stakes moral decision you will ever make in your life. There is no reward. No applause. No tax deduction. You don’t get a sticker, a high-five, or a karmic upgrade. It is a pure act of voluntary order — an echo of civilization made visible in the asphalt maze of late-stage capitalism.
And yet some choose the dark path.
Why?
Because returning your cart requires a flicker of integrity. A burst of micro-discipline. The faintest scent of regard for others. If you can’t be trusted with a grocery cart, how can you be trusted with democracy? With a child? With your own browser history?
To be clear, this is not about logistics. This is not about labor or laziness or how far the corral is from your Ford F-150. This is a mirror test for the soul, conducted in painted lines and oil stains.
In fact, I believe grocery cart return behavior is the final metric that will determine who ascends and who devolves when the singularity comes. The AI will be watching, taking notes. It won’t care about your LinkedIn endorsements. It’ll want to know: Did you return the cart?
And if not?
Enjoy your exile to the algorithmic gulag, where the ground is paved with wayward carts, all spinning in a circle like dumb, dented Roombas of human apathy.
Now, to be charitable, I’m not saying you’re a bad person if you’ve ever left a cart in the wild.
No — I’m saying you’re a reptile in khakis, and that somewhere in your lineage a monkey gave up fire so you could one day pretend a gentle slope was too much of an incline for you to walk 30 feet with a wheeled basket of bananas.
We are fighting a silent war in the parking lots of America. A battle between those who make the world slightly more livable... and those who treat society like a choose-your-own-adventure novel where empathy is optional.
You want to know who someone really is? Don’t ask them their politics, their religion, their enneagram number.
Follow them in the parking lot.
And when the groceries are packed and the trunk clicks shut...
Watch.