As 33 miners emerged from their underground ordeal in Chile last month, the world watched. This was the mother of all rescues: Half-a-mile down, through solid rock, to the waiting men. For most of us, it was one of those leveling events. To paraphrase one TV sportscaster, it was utterly bizarre to segue from live satellite feed to the nightly sports recap while the first miners were surfacing, making history.

Yet life goes on, in all of its mundane glory.

By the next day, as the number of rescued miners continued to grow, I went about my business, which included a trip to the supermarket.

Most of us have some item or other on our grocery list that’s either hard to find, or hard to find in quantity. So, when we find it, we do the obvious thing: Wipe the shelves clean, thereby solving our own problem, and creating the same annoyance for others.

You got a problem with that?

So I’ll buy all four boxes of my favorite crackers, for instance, or the last three jars of peach jam. It’s a first-come-first-served marketplace, and there I am. If there’s some reason to modify my purchase, it eludes me; delaying now will only mean searching for more, later.

Recently, though, I’ve had a change of heart. Last week, there were six pints of my favorite cottage cheese in the refrigerated case, and I bought only five. Though I wanted the entire stash, I decided to leave one for the next frustrated shopper, as a token of solidarity.

By any reasonable standard, this was a tepid rendition of the golden rule. I make no claim to generosity ”“ only a slight bow to courtesy. And since a decision to buy, or not buy, gives me no leg up on the ladder to sainthood, I dismiss the prospect of forfeiting all six pints.

There’s charity, on the one hand ”“ foolishness, on the other.

A second option might have been to split the remaining inventory with some imaginary shopper who had yet to materialize. Three pints for her, and three for me, would certainly be equitable.

But then, I was there for the cottage cheese ”“ and she wasn’t.

As I wheeled my cart to the next aisle, I was thinking about the odd calculation I’d just made. There’s no right answer to this little quandary; people will arrive at their own number, and for their own reasons. Of course I hope the karma of cottage cheese may turn up later ”“ that one pint left behind now will be another that awaits me in the future.

Then I thought back to those Chilean miners, with their teaspoon of tuna fish and their desperately scant supplies. At that moment, I understood exactly how the sportscaster felt chronicling the day’s punts and tackles.

— Joan Silverman’s work has appeared in The Christian Science Monitor, Houston Chronicle and Chicago Tribune. She lives in Kennebunk.