The fluorescent lights hummed over the stacked rows of beans and tomatoes. Mid-afternoon lull, and the only sound was the faint scrape of my cart wheels against the polished concrete floor. I reached for the kidney beans, the specific brand listed on the crumpled receipt clutched in my hand. My fingers brushed the cool metal of the can, and before I could pull it free, the brass bell fixture mounted high on the endcap gave a sharp, insistent ding. It was too loud for the quiet aisle, a sound that seemed to echo off the industrial shelving. I froze, heart thudding against my ribs, staring at the bell’s polished dome. The bell had not rung for the brand I needed. It had rung because I had picked up the black beans instead. A second later, the bell gave a softer, almost apologetic jingle, a sound that seemed to follow the item back into the shelf. I quickly corrected my grip, pulling the correct can and moving past the UPC barcode scanner, acutely aware of the dust motes dancing in the stale air.
jingle · tender