Finally. Lunch. What felt like a week worth of meetings—but was only an hour or two—is finally over and you can leave. Freedom. The scorching Texas air hits you like a burning truck, reminding you of air conditioning's virtues, but starving, you push past it—onward to the store.

Entering the store, the cool air provides immediate relief from the 100-degree heat outside. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead as you scan the aisles, your stomach growling audibly. You pick out your usual snacks and approach the counter to pay, the bell above the door jangling with each new customer.

While at the counter, the woman in front of you—a U.S. Marshal of all people, based on her jacket displaying a badge—drops something. It's nothing out of the ordinary, just her phone, but it skitters across the floor toward your feet. Out of the kindness of your heart, you bend down to pick it up. As you hand it back she looks down, blushing slightly as she says, "Oh—uh...thank you."