Sam didn't notice the tiny woman veering his way until it was too late. He had tried to avoid collision by pulling back on his cart (which resulted in one of the wheels rolling back and up the front end of his foot - ow), but the effort really hadn't been much use on his part. Bar the newly discovered foot pain, that was. Fortunately, the woman was a lot quicker on her feet than he was, so rather than making one hell of a mess in the middle of the aisle, Sam was instead coping with an irritated person. He hadn't been paying much attention to her before she'd rolled on by, so Sam didn't even think twice about it being his fault. It probably had been.
"I -- yeah, sorry," Sam tried, sheepishly looking down at the handle of his cart. Awesome. "I didn't mean...I wasn't paying attention. Sorry." He'd hoped to drop it at that. Maybe she wouldn't make such a fuss or say anything worthy of giving him a headache bigger than the one he already had. Maybe she'd let him walk away and go back to his house, where he'd slip into his newly found routine of patrolling the property with a shotgun in one hand and a bag of salt in the other like a crazy person.
Whatever. Crazy people had the right idea. They were usually the ones that survived longer than anyone else, right? Again: look at Rufus and Bobby. Crazy and paranoid were probably good things.
Just as Sam was beginning to push off to do just that, the woman started to speak again. Finally, Sam looked over at her, taking her in fully for the first time (he'd been too embarrassed to make eye contact before).
Sam ignored what she said about his height. He couldn't help it. It was her. Well, him. The him-her, even! "...dude, why are you a chick again?" First the chipmunk routine, now this. Oh god. Wait. Was he still a man? Sam looked down at his hands and then reached up to check his hair and face to be sure.