"I'm trying to find ripe fruit in the produce section when I see, out of the corner of my eye, a man fall down. I feel more than hear his shriek as he topples into the oranges, scattering the display across the linoleum. It's more than I can bear to admit it, but the plum I had been holding I juiced instead. So that's why I'm here."
"Even so, sir, I really don't know if I can allow you to buy . . . uh, pulp, I guess. I'm not sure how I would ring it up."
"Ok. I'll just . . . I guess I'll just leave this here with you, then?"
"Please don't."
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This is Your Fault
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