I dropped what I was holding and ran toward the noise.
Broken bottles lay scattered around a stock cart, and a young employee stood beside it, hands on his head. He had Down syndrome.
A woman was standing over him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll get someone.”
“No. You stay right here.”
She was loud enough that people two aisles over turned around.
“God, I can’t believe this! Look at you. You can’t even get a bottle off a shelf. How did you even get this job?”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off.
“I asked for one bottle. One. And now look at this.”
My daughter was standing beside the opposite shelf.
“Come here, honey,” I said.
Sasha hurried over and grabbed my hand.
“Mom, she did it.”
“What?”
“She pushed his cart. He told her to wait, and she pushed it into the bottles. I watched her.”
