They'd moved the Keller.
So, I had to improvise. First I tried turning the power chair round and going at it from a different direction. I thought I'd maybe be able to reach up to where it was, just out of reach on the top shelf. I could touch it but not get enough of a grip to be able to lift it over the cardboard barrier created by the box it came in. The only person around was a young surly looking guard. He was stocky, wore a tight blue official kind of sweater, dark blue pants, and had handcuffs attached to his belt. He wasn't, um, what's the word, approachable.
But what the hell, the Keller was out of reach.
I asked him in my most polite voice if he'd help me by putting eight tins into my waiting bag. He glanced around to see if he was being watched, grunted that he'd help me, and then came over and put the beer in the bag as if it was the most degrading thing he'd ever done. As he was doing it, I asked, "What's the big deal, something like this must break the tedium of the job doesn't it?" He smiled a kind of apology and said, "In my job, I've got to look and act tough."
"Hmmm," I said, "personally I think helping a guy in a wheelchair get beer not only looks tough, it looks vaguely illegal." He permitted himself a very small laugh. Bag loaded with the requisite number of Kellers, I went in search of a few Stellas to add to the bag and then decided on getting a couple Saint Peter's Ale because it was Sunday and because I like the bottle. It was quite the shopping trip.
As I was heading up to the cashier, the guard stopped me and said, "I thought about what you said, you're right, helping you out didn't make me look weak. Besides there are lots of ways to be strong, aren't there?" I could see he had really thought this through, "Yes," I answered, "and one of the most powerful ways to show strength is to ask for help when needed."
He looked perplexed.
But he had something more to do with his day: think.