Most days a trip to the grocery store is pretty routine: checking off the standard items on the list, using coupons, saying hi to a few people, deciding on what kind of ice cream to buy this week. But not today.
First off, in the produce aisle they were selling small plastic cartons of end-of-season blueberries for $7.99. Worse, all the boxes had bruised fruit on the bottom. The shopper next to me watched me turn over ever box looking for a passable one.
"Just shows you how long they've been sitting there, at that price," she astutely observed.
Then there was a woman wearing a surgical mask over her face who bought the newspaper -- either she'd been reading all the stories about the Ebola virus or she was especially sensitive to germs, poor thing.
A group of friends was chatting in the lobby. I heard only one line: "He don't dance, he don't drink, he don't party no more." Judging from the woman's tone of voice, this was not an improvement.
In the parking lot I saw a kind employee loading a woman's groceries in her car trunk as she approached slowly, pushing her walker.
And finally I saw a sweet little kid wearing a fancy princess dress sitting in the shopping cart as her mother unloaded groceries. I complimented her lovely dress and sparkly shoes.
"Who was dat?" she asked her mother as I walked away.
"That," said her mother, "was a very nice lady."
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