Ok, Here's What Happened:

I go to ∑≈!mart to return some shit. I exchange the shit for some cash dollars, I exit the establishment, get in my car, and light a cigarette. I start to back out of my spot, but am delayed from escaping, owing to the fact that there is a fucking parade, a goddamn motorcade, a veritable cavalcade of the hoi polloi not uncommon to a ∑≈!mart parking lot at 4 pm, and my van happens to be parked along the procession route.

So, I sit and smoke and wait a couple of minutes for the herd to scatter. Finally, my getaway is feasible, so I start to back out, and FUCK! What was that? Oh, of course: one of the fucking dregs who just passed by parked their empty shopping cart directly behind my van, exactly in my blind spot, even though I was sitting in the car with the engine running.

Naturally, I get out of my car to assess the damages. This is when I notice a livid septuagenarian approaching me, and I quickly realize that the errant shopping cart has traversed the distance between my van and his sedan with some force, thusly scratching his shiny, shiny paint job. I start to explain what has happened, and Father Time--instead of being calm and rational--decides to grab my arm and drag me to his car, so I can see the damage I've inflicted on his vehicle.

He yells at me for a few seconds about how careless, reckless, inattentive I've been, all the while clutching my arm with his skeletal claw of death. I ask him to please let go of my arm. He yells at me some more about how he isn't in a position to pay for a new paint job, he's retired, he's living on a fixed income. I'm thinking about how I can't afford to pay for a new paint job either, but mostly I'm thinking, "If this fucking codger doesn't let go of me, I'm going to punch him in the eye." I ask him again to let go of my arm. Now. He asks what the hell I was thinking, and I say, "You. Need. To. Let. Go. Of. Me. Now." I'm weighing the moral implications and karmic retributions of socking a senior citizen, when his wife gets out of the car and says, "Frank: stop being an asshole and get back in the car." Somewhat hesitantly, he releases his grip on my limb, and returns to his car.

I'm shaking from the adrenaline that nearly getting a brawl in the ∑≈!mart parking lot has produced, and can't think clearly, so what do I do?

I return the cart to its stable, get in my car and drive away.

Later, my mom tells me that I should get the parking lot surveillance tapes, press assault charges, and that ∑≈!mart is obligated to pay for damages inflicted by runaway shopping carts. My dad tells me I should have kicked his nether regions. And life goes on.

So... For those of you who were wondering: that's what happened.