Most people don’t think about how impossible grocery stores are in a wheelchair.

The aisles are just wide enough to trap you between two people arguing over pasta brands. The bottom shelves require Cirque du Soleil levels of flexibility to reach. And the top shelves? Might as well be in another dimension.

I was stocking canned goods when I heard it.

A sigh.

Not just any sigh—one of those deep, frustrated sighs that come from a person who has already tried to handle something themselves and now has to accept defeat.

I turned to see a man in a wheelchair, staring up at the very top shelf.

“What are we going for?” I asked.

He pointed. “Diced tomatoes.”

I grabbed a can and handed it to him.

He exhaled. “Thanks. Hate asking for help.”

I shrugged. “I hate reaching for diced tomatoes, so we’re even.”

That made him laugh—a short, real laugh.

Then he motioned around. “You ever notice how grocery stores pretend people in wheelchairs don’t exist?”

Now that he mentioned it—yeah. Everything important was out of reach.

I looked down the aisle. “So, uh… how do you normally do this?”

He smirked. “Strategic alliances. I scan for tall people. Make eye contact. Hope for the best.”

This man was out here running a full-scale supply chain operation just to buy groceries.

I shook my head. “Alright, let’s make this easier. What else is on the list?”

He hesitated. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m already here,” I said. “Might as well use my vertical advantage.”

So we did. I became his certified grocery-getter. The MVP of aisle navigation. The human extension grabber.

When we finished, he looked at me, then at the full cart. “Man,” he said. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

I grinned. "Well, I accept tips in the form of life advice or secret family recipes."

He smirked. "You like chili?"

"Obviously."

"Alright," he said, nodding. "You just earned the best damn chili recipe in the state."

And just like that, a routine grocery run turned into something more.

Here’s the thing:

Most people don’t realize how much of the world wasn’t built for them—until they have to live in a body that doesn’t fit the blueprint.

We assume help is burdensome. That asking for it is an inconvenience.

But the truth is? There’s no weakness in needing help.

The weakness is in pretending we don’t all need each other.

Because at some point, we all have a top shelf we can’t reach.

And when that happens, the only thing that matters is who’s willing to grab the can. ❤️

In service of the journey, always—Unworthy Illuminator – Beckett