Bugging Out in the Floral Department

One of my favorite weekly outings is the trip to the local Shop-Rite. On Saturdays Gerry and I do our chore run which includes Petsmart for Otis supplies, Cosco, for clothes, nuts, and Red Bull, and then the World Class Shop-Rite for Saturday night dinner stuff. We usually return on Sunday for all the weekly groceries and it was on this occasion last week as we strolled through the revolving door that we heard a terrible ruckus in the floral department. Two ancient people were having a full blown screaming match. The wife with the shopping cart was a short, slight, wrinkled woman with fishy blue eyes and a white poodle perm. She would have looked somewhat smart in her white stretch pants and anchored and striped cotton top, however her face was purple with rage as she screamed at her husband that he was going the wrong way on route to the exit. He was a queer little man, about 4'9" with a prominent widow's peak, unnaturally brownish hair, pale lined face sporting wire rim spectacles. The trench coat that he wore came down to the ankles of his stubby little legs and the hem flapped angrily as he strode with a rapid penguin gait. He was shouting back at his wife, in essence stating that she didn't know what she was talking about. As she pushed her cart with her head shaking in anger and disgust, her gnome-like husband took off down the produce aisle. I thought that maybe he was heading for the men's room at the back of the store, as he clearly wasn't going to leave through that direction, but no, he was obviously lost and muttering angrily to himself. I got the sense he was capable of violent behavior so I kept my distance and refrained from interfering. As my husband and I meandered up and down the aisles, we saw him darting around the store in his own private snit. I was hoping his wife would return to steer him in the right direction to leave, and I doubly hoped that this angry and confused little man was not going to drive a car. When we finally pushed our cart through the floral department to leave, low and behold there were two disturbed young women, obviously sisters, having the same fight as the old couple... and in the exact same spot. One screamed, "you don't know where your going," as the other one stormed by us and yelled the same line in louder volume. It was if they caught the anger left behind from the old folks and caused an identical scene. Like everyone else around us, we tried to pretend we didn't see or hear them, but the coincidence was as clear as the noses on those angry faces.