"Half a pound of J.R.R. Tolkien, please", said the housewife in the supermarket.

"I'm taking three slices of J.R.R. Tolkien, too", added the granny who was standing in line behind her.

The supermarket employee shrugged. "I am sorry", he said. "J.R.R. Tolkien is not for sale here. This is the meat counter. Maybe you have more luck in the clothes department? He should be between 'Neckties'" and 'Underpants 30% off'."

"But he is right here", protested the housewife. "I can see him." She pointed behind the employee.

The employee turned. A bell rang. Heavenly trumpets answered from nowhere. A soft and warm golden glow flooded the meat counter as J.R.R. Tolkien stepped up to greet them. The employee sank to his knees. "Forgive me!" he sobbed. "I did not know..."

"It is alright, my boy", Tolkien said with a friendly voice. "You spoke the truth. I have not come to be sold. I am merely here today to inspect this facility's bookshelves." He raised a hand, and every Twilight and Harry Potter volume in the supermarket burst into flames. All was well.