The memo appeared on the staff board on Monday: "Starting this Tuesday, between six and seven in the evening, the store will hold a Quiet Hour." The lights would be dimmed, the music and announcements turned off, the scanner beeps lowered. Owen read it three times, hoping it said something else. Tuesday evening was his busiest hour. In eight years at the register, he had learned that a loud, bright, crowded store was a store making money. OwenMs. Lowell, with respect, we'll lose a fortune. Nobody comes to a supermarket for silence. Ms. LowellSome people don't come at all, Owen, because they can't bear the noise. I'd like to know how many. Owen nodded the way a skeptical man nods when he isn't persuaded, and he expected an empty hour that would prove him right.