A jar of happiness, please

I push the trolley down the supermaket aisle looking for a jar marked happiness.
I am sure it's there somewhere hidden behind the soul soups, comfort foods, iPods or even the 42-inch LCD TV. Could happiness be out of stock today or do they call it something else now. The old man in the corner, mopping the floor, whistling a tune seems a good one to ask. He is resigned to his fate, whistling in appreciation, carefully wiping clean a mighty fine electronic toy that will never be his. Or perhaps he just doesn't want it.