a supervisor carrying a radio. The woman released my arm and immediately explained what had happened. Her voice shook at first, but she steadied it, pointing out the tilted stock before anyone could suggest continuing work beneath it.
The supervisor blocked the aisle.
Only then did she look back at me.
“Seriously,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“Mostly embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“I nearly lost a fight with garlic.”
Her eyes dropped to the bulb near my shoe. This time, her smile stayed.
Her badge read Sabrina Moretti.
My name was
