Grocery shopping at our neighborhood store the other day, I bought milk. I placed the milk in the bottom of the cart, on its side. I always place the milk here because the rest of the cart is usually occupied by Pickwicks of assorted sizes. I haven’t actually ever spilled milk in a grocery store (stay tuned, I most likely will, after such a public declaration. I shall endeavor not to cry over it when I do). As I rounded the corner of the dairy aisle, I was accosted by a Very Concerned Gentleman.

“Ma’am, ma’am! Please, don’t put your milk on its side.” Mild confusion on the part of Mrs. Pickwick, who is only accustomed to hearing “your children are beautiful” or “your children are quite the handful,” depending on the success of recent naptimes, minutes since food devoured, and length of time since laundry day. “Your Milk, ma’am. Your Milk! I beg of you, please, please, do not put your milk on its side. It is the new caps. They leak. So many jugs of milk leak ever since they put these new caps on, especially if it is placed on its side.” I glance at the cap, which looks very much like all milk caps I have seen since the beginning of time, or at least the beginning of my grocery shopping, which very often seems like approximately the same era. Unable to withstand such earnest entreaty, and because I did indeed need to get past him to the bread aisle, I placed the milk carefully upright in my cart, now immune to leaking, but subject to small Pickwickian destruction. “Ma’am, I thank you. I thank you for moving that milk. I thank you and your milk will not leak. It’s these new caps.”

And with that triumphant salute to my decision to relocate my milk, the Very Concerned Gentleman moved on past the sour cream and yogurt, presumably on the lookout to prevent as many more dairy catastrophes as he could between the butter and the checkout line. What would our grocery stores be without the dedicated service of these unsung heroes? The last line of defense between us and leaky milk. Very Concerned Gentleman, I thank you.