The grocery store is one of my happy places. It’s always organized. Soft music playing. On really good days, free samples. Usually a new product surprise awaits (Carrot Cake Oreos? Don’t mind if I do.). Yes, the aisles are filled with “happy.” Makes me feel all sorts of warm and safe inside.

Strolling the aisles in my state of shopping bliss, I approached the dairy case. There was a gallon of skim with my name on it. Grabbing a jug, I glanced ahead. Rows of milk stretching back toward the back of the shelf and A FACE! Egad! I jumped a tad, stepped back, and closed the door. I knew people worked back there, but usually it’s accompanied by dairy movement, with milk sliding toward the glass door. Never stony silence and lifeless eyes.

I went about my business. Cheese slices and wheat thins (the big sized cracker variety, of course) remained on the list.

I returned to my shopping, with just a tad less bliss and a dash of caution. I guess it’s good to be a little on guard, especially when you’re still within range of the curious eyes dwelling in the rear of the refrigerated case.