“Excuse me, ma’am?” A older, frail lady taps me on the shoulder as I hand a man his receipt. I look over at my closed sign, ‘I guess my break will be delayed yet again’

“Yes, can I help you?” I plaster on my sincerest, most fake smile.

“I can’t find the tagliatelle.” Only now do I recognize her deep Italian accent. “Where do you keep it?”

My face drops into the most confused of expressions, and thank God she recognized it.

“Pasta dear.”

“Oh, aisle four. Do you want me to help you look?” ‘Please say no, please say no.’ I just want to go take my break.

“Thank you so much dear.” She turns towards aisle four with me trailing behind, staring at the floor.

Of course the pasta is on the highest shelf; and for my troubles none of the tall grocery people are here. Wonderful.
Even my 5’ 11’’ won’t help. Unsteadily I climb up the shelves.

From my perch I scan the row, wow I’m up high. Don’t look down I force myself. Oh, too high. I’m gonna fall. falls

“We’re out of that.” the manager says.

“Wonderful.”