Bull In a China shop

This, yuzu, is what I was looking for at the Asian market yesterday.
The shelves are really packed with sauces so I had to reach
back a ways to get to it. Turns out it wasn't yuzu, but I only
found that out five minutes later; after I had restacked all the
many glass jars that came cascading down like a waterfall when my
big american elbow bumped into a jinga-key bottle of hoisin sauce.

The only sound I can remember that came even close to resembling
the resultant clatter was once when I saw a dump truck take down
a row of highway warning cones. The aisle was instantly filled with
store workers, but none of them spoke english so my excuse that the
bottles attacked me did nothing to make me look less the fool.

After the cleanup, I finished my shopping quickly. I imagined the
ladies were talking about me in whatever language they were speaking.
Well, I know they were; they would duck and cover every time I reached
for something on the shelf. "look out, here he comes again"
I just hope they forget my face. The market has lots of interesting
foods, and it's darned cheap.

Maybe I'll grow a beard before I go back.