"Excuse me sir," says the hobbit-like man with the mustache once he's finished arguing with his wife. "Could you get some of those down for me?"
He's pointing to the giant 15 roll pack of toilet paper stacked up to the ceiling above the meat section, and I hand him the onion I'm carrying and happily oblige.
Once he's got it and he's walking away, I have to chase him down to get my onion back.
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