The P.A. system crackles: “Manager to the kosher deli, manager to the kosher deli!”

I grab a whole chicken and a bone-in rib-eye steak. Doolies returns from the paper goods aisle, her arms full of small boxes of tissues that she tumbles into the cart. I push the cart past a pyramid of cracker boxes. We pass the fresh fish counter where an old man with a large hearing aid cuts into a slab of salmon.

Doolies grazes the vegetable section while I look to the deli. I push the cart to the edge of the fruit section for a better look. I pretend to squeeze a few apples but my attention is on the deli. I wanted half a pound of pastrami for my post-work snack and I’m worried. I watch as the manager walks around the deli counter. I drop the apple and push the cart past the cheese stand to get a better look.

I look through the display case, past the prepared side dishes and tubes of meat, and see the deli lady on the floor holding her head. The manager extends his arm to help her stand. “I hit my head,” the deli lady says. I can’t make out his response.

A shopper pushes his cart to the front of the kosher deli counter. “Do you have chopped liver today?” he asks.

The deli lady is holding the wet napkin to her head over a red bruise. The manager looks to the deli lady and back to the man. “Sir, she hit her head. I’m helping her. You’ll have to wait, sir.”

“Yes, of course,” the man says. “And the chopped liver do you have any?”

The deli lady sits on a small chair next to the counter. The manager hovers protectively over her. He ignores the man.

“Excuse me,” the man says a bit louder. “Do you have chopped liver, the beef one, not the vegetable one?”

The deli lady tries to stand and she sits back down as her legs shake. The manager helps her down. She points to the chopped liver. “Yes, it’s over there,” she says. The manager looks from the deli lady to the serving counter and grabs a plastic bowl.

Doolies dumps bags of vegetables into the cart. I push the cart past the kosher deli and decide to skip the pastrami.