A Cellarful of Nose

section. I want to get it back as soon as possible, so I hold the cane over my head, to attract attention. I scan the area with my eyes, my mouth open as if to ask, Did anyone lose a cane?

"There it is!" a loud voice announces. I turn, and a tall woman of about 75 is frowning at me.

"Was this yours?" I ask miserably. She looks like she will club me with it when I hand it over.

"Shame on you!" she says. "My friend is going out of her mind, thanks to you. Why would you do such a thing?"

I hand the cane over, apologetically. "It was an accident,” I said.

"Well, you scared a poor old woman half to death," she says, and wheels away from me.

Rather than plead my case I withdraw, hoping to get my groceries and get the hell out of the store. I push my cart down the same route I have already traveled twice – produce, whole foods, fish and smoked meats – and a voice comes on the PA system: "Will whoever took a cart containing a cane in it, please return it to the customer service desk."

My heart sinks. Surely I don't have to do this again? I toss a loaf of bread next to my bag of cherries, and push the cart down through the deli section. When I round the corner, I see the tall woman bending over a stooped figure.

It is an older woman, perhaps 86 or 88, and she is visibly trembling. The tall woman is rubbing her back. "It's all right, dear.

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