The child scooching his feet in loose flip flops claimed he wanted to help.
Which was when I handed him two bags of chips, one for each hand, that he assured me he could carry. Like thirty feet to the register.
Only from here to there was time enough for both bags to be smacked together like cymbals, whapped like an extra hand against the shelves and tossed but not quite caught.
Which–in sum–was why I carried the bananas.