The Pinot Noir aisle in BevMo. I was slowly working my way shelf to shelf, section to section, frowning and muttering. Bottle after bottle of wine, label after label, description after description.
A clerk, a burly fellow, asked. “Anything I can help you with, ma’am?”
“No, thanks, I’m fine, just taking my time, making decisions.” And I returned to squinting at labels covered with plastic, tricky to read in the reflections of the overhead lights. The clerk trundled off.
I’d gotten down to Pinots from wineries S through Z when the fellow returned pushing a big, wheeled ladder with a platform at the top; he climbed up and went to work way above me. Having opened a compartment up there, he shoved cases and bottles around and put a couple next to him on the platform.
Then from down the aisle, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him start back down the ladder.
SMASH!
I looked over. The bottles lay shattered in the aisle, pouring out wine and shards of glass on the cement floor.
Oh, no! This was no delicate Pinot Noir, either; what I smelled must have been a heavy, dark red.
Just then my husband waved from the opposite end of the aisle. “Guess I won’t be coming through!” He grinned and disappeared. 
Resignedly, the clerk disappeared in search of clean-up equipment. Grabbing my camera out of my purse, I focused as fast as I could and took a photo.
“Better not let him see you do that!” Andy, from around behind me.
“I know! I’m working as fast as I can.” I managed three more images before the clerk reappeared with mop and bucket.
Then I continued on to the other side of the aisle, but I heard him mutter, “Shoulda seen it coming!”
After a bit more shopping, Andy and I paid for our wine and drove off. I said, “I wonder what the wine was, that broke? All I could say was that it was a red . . . do you think the characters in Bottleshock could have identified it?”
Just a few weeks before, we’d enjoyed that movie on Netflix. “Remember that great scene when Freddy Rodriguez’ character is challenged to precisely identify three unknown wines in brown bags as a test? I bet he’d have known what this variety was, if he could have tasted and smelled it—but surely even he couldn’t name this winery and vintage year!” 
Later, reviewing my images at home, I thought, Oh, now there’s a sad sight! Two bottles of wine irretrievably gone. “Dead soldiers,” as I’ve heard empty bottles called. (This accident, then, must have been involuntary manslaughter.) Some of the dark shards of glass looked like clotted blood, even bits of squashed grapes or raisins.
And who knows what effect that cold cement had on the flavor or fragrance? Certainly, the impact released the “bouquet” in an explosive burst, which lingered in the air during the ten minutes or so that the fellow labored at cleaning up.
Why did it matter to me anyway? Why remember what must happen in a liquor store every so often? And why even think much about spills or breakage, something we all occasionally do; my own most recent smash involved an empty wine glass, not a bottle.
I must confess, I think, to an element of schadenfreude. “Hee Hee! Happened to him but not to me!” To the tune of “Neener, neener,” the playground gloat song we all remember.
Also, very often, as hostess, I’m the one who cleans up, whether or not I made the mess in the first place. This time I had the luxury of just watching with no responsibility and could even think, Oh, I’ve got to photograph that!
But most of all, the event acted like a cymbal crash in a quiet day. And it happened during the Covid-19 lockdown, when we’d all gotten so starved for excitement.
Also, the impact of that bottle brought back the memory of a friend of ours, who years ago had the misfortune to sit down in a director’s chair in our house, only to have the canvas seat split. Jack got dumped on the floor! Andy and I were amazed at his presence of mind—and the grace—to say, “That’s the most surprising thing that’s happened to me all day!”
Yup! The smash of those wine bottles easily constituted the most exciting and most surprising event of our day, even month.
But there’s another varietal in this blend: I buy and enjoy wine for the exact opposite experience, for quiet—make that “considered”—enjoyment. I love to design and serve menus that complement wine, then sip and talk, discuss the wine while drinking and sharing food with good friends, or stretch out a bottle with Andy after we’ve shared a good steak. The polar opposite of a sudden disaster, even a minor one. 
Yet in both instances, my senses are involved: in the store, the only thing I couldn’t do, thank goodness, was touch. I know how sharp shards of glass can be; I also know the juicy swish as a broom drags the bits and pieces of glass along with the liquid, and how you feel it all through the bristles. And that sound when the bottle broke in the first place! That split second of beat-out-everything-else-around-you. Bouquet? Nope. Instead, it was as though someone had suddenly covered my face with a wet washcloth soaked in wine and pinched my nose to force me to breathe damply in.
As though from a front-row center seat, I was treated to a performance. An entirely private show, too—even though I’d never bought tickets nor expected to take in a smash hit. 
Great story and I love the picture of your table. Certainly reminds me of wonderful dinners there, even though I never imbided.
Helen, thank you – and the table was at Craigville in the cottage. How I wish we had been able to have your there! Having dinner on that porch meant a lot of carrying stuff back and forth, but it was all worth it to be out there those wonderful summer evenings.
But we’ll do it here again in San Diego, right?! Sally
You have certainly entertained my senses with all that loud noise, redolent surprise, and thrill of overhead danger! And the Craigville porch even got a little cameo, huh? A fun article that I bet I’ll be thinking over all day!
That picture of the porch was from your visit to us! Wish we could repeat it — Sally
Oh, how you turn a trip to the liquor store into a very interesting story! Thanks Sally!
Irene, I still remember going to the liquor store once with my father, when I was pretty young, and wondering
why there looked to be all that water in bottles! which is how I learned (I guess) what gin and vodka were!
Thanks for your interest and comment, Irene
Fabulous food for thought!
Thank you, Tina! Hope you both are doing fine and staying warm and comfy these days!
Oh my. It’s 8:15 in the morning and I have this sudden urge to have a glass of wine . . . a red, of course.
LIBerty School Cab? Or Pinot NOir? Either, with you!
Intriguing story, Sally. You somehow garner abundant and substantial elements of life from one ordinary and typical event. Amazing! And delightful. The table setting is tremendously intimate and inviting.
Wish you’d been with us, Paula, at that table! And thank you for the many wonderful times at YOUR table! Always attractive, and lovely hospitality you give — Sally
That view looks like your porch in Craigville!
Barbara, it is! wish we were still able to have you over, and share a glass there! Sally
Lovely example of experiences of sight, sound, smell, texture that most of us would miss. Thank you!
Hope to see you again before too many years, Marlene! we’ve loved our times with you. Sally
Another delight! Someone famous — whose name escapes me — said that one benefit of memories is that you get to live your life twice. Once when you experienced it and once when you relived it. Or something like that. Your essay had me wandering a huge liquor store with my brother and sister on our way to an Acadian festival, visiting with you on that porch with “the girls of summer,” and listening to you read your work-in-progress on the deck over the marsh. All joys.
Anne, so happy it brought back all those memories! “The girls of summer” and the deck on the marsh– oh, those are good ones indeed. Hope I see you again on Cape before
too many more years! Thanks for your kind words and I’m glad you enjoyed reading it == Sally
“a smash hit” indeed! Your cheese in the picture makes me hungry!