The Mystery of Aisle 18

16 October 2026 · 2 min read

I work in a supermarket, and I thought it was just another normal shift. I clocked in and headed down the shop floor, ready for a quiet start.

Then it hit me.

It wasn’t a gentle whiff either. It was the sort of smell that makes your eyes water and your soul leave your body. I stopped dead and looked up. My workmate was standing a few feet away, wearing the exact look I was trying not to wear: pure fear mixed with the kind of laughter you’re not supposed to let out at work.

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” I whispered.

He just pointed.

Somewhere in the world, a customer had been in the worst position possible. They had clearly run out of options and out of time, and they had made a bold decision right in the middle of aisle 18, next to the canned veg. A big one, too. Proper commitment.

We stood there like two detectives at a crime scene. Who does that? How does that even happen? And how does a person simply walk away afterwards, trolley and all?

In the end, I did the only sensible thing and went to find someone with a mop and a strong stomach.

I’ll never look at a tin of garden peas the same way again.