Another Brush With Ugly Death

There are two things you have to know before you can understand how I almost ended up in front of St. Peter last week, looking at the ground and dragging a toe in the dirt. First is that the drink cart is locked into the galley by way of two red latches, and before it can be driven around, it has to be pulled out towards the galley bulkhead (towards the back of the plane) where the carnivorous table lives. The other is that, on ascent, the plane points steeply upward for about ten minutes.
See where this is going?
I should explain that it wasn't that I didn't understand that the cart would barrel at me at speed if I unlocked it during ascent (though my lack of foresight is capable of such). I just thought I was man enough to fight the cart. I was not. No man is. If I may paint a verbal picture:

(SFX: CLICK SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAKSQUEAKSQUEAK BANGSQUISH)
PASSENGER IN 1A: Hey son, you all right up there?
ME: IIIIFFF!

I was able to push the cart off of myself after about two oxygen-deprived minutes, and thus was spared the indignity of needing help from the other flight attendant and thus, having someone else see what I had done. But those red latches that hold the unholy thing in place? Yeah, they're all over the place, to include the galley bulkhead, which made the experience a little like being jammed into an open Iron Maiden. I still have marks.