"Excuse me," I heard a small voice squeak from behind me. "Excuse me!"
When I looked down, I saw a tiny old lady, no taller than four feet, her frizzy white hair starkly contrasting with her brown skin. She was gesturing wildly at a large box at her feet - a new TV? A desktop computer? - and shivering in the rain.
"Could you lift this into my car for me?" she asked. "My arthritis is acting up something awful."