Tangerine Clash

I'm all lost in the supermarket, where I can listen happily. The scanners are all chiming in 3/4 time, singing a far better tune than the trendy new-age yoga mother music that gently plays overhead. Help is summoned over an intercom. I can tell by the urgency in the cashiers voice that there must be a real problem at hand. As I scan the refrigerated cooler in search of tangerine juice I can hear ripe produce crashing to the bottom of a new plastic bag. My mind drifts into the thoughts of my hectic day, just as a compressor kicks on in the cooler and reminds me that I am here to shop. All around people are chatting about property management, soccer sign-ups and so many other things I hope to never be concerned with. In the distance I hear talk of a stand up bass being played somewhere the night before. That is something I could stand to hear. I finally find the tangerine juice I've been looking for and head for the door (after paying, of course). I never knew buying juice would create such a symphony.