CW #9: Grocery Shopping

Checking-out in a Roman grocery store was a stressful experience.

I stood in front of Despar, the neighborhood grocery store. Starring at it quizzically, surprised at how anyone could locate this place because it resembled all the other stores on its block – just another rectangular section cut out of the side of a building. No elaborate sign or marker to identify this place as a grocery store, except for its name posted above the glass doors. It’s completely different from the gigantic Safeway’s and QFC’s, where one would have to be downright oblivious to miss.

I walked into Despar, but I wasn’t greeted by a train of grocery carts. Instead, I saw a neat stack of red baskets, similar to the ones at home, except they had an incredibly long, black handle folded over to one side. Interestingly enough, I discovered it was used to tug the basket behind me as I shopped, like a child pulling his most treasured little red wagon. I chuckled; it was creative.

After filling my red basket full of goodies, I headed towards the cash registers and stood in line.

I was next –
I watched as the lady in front of me stacked her basket on top of the empty ones and placed her items on the narrow black conveyor belt. I made a mental note to follow the same procedure. The clerk rang up the lady’s items and quickly told her the price in Italian. Crap, my Italian isn’t that good yet… Next, I saw the clerk grab a single plastic bag from underneath the counter and toss it on top of the lady’s groceries. That’s strange…only one plastic bag? The lady bagged her own groceries. Hm, no baggers?

My turn –
I stacked my groceries on the conveyor belt neatly. They gradually moved closer to the clerk as the belt moved – like a boat making its way to the opening of a deep dark cave. The clerk scanned my items quickly and tossed them to the other side of her, treating them like dirty laundry. I was taken aback – couldn’t she have been more gentle? She then quickly told me the price in Italian, which I caught bits of but still starred at her blankly. She looked frustrated and annoyed as she turned the scanner with the price on it so I could read it. I took out a 50 Euro bill and handed it to her. She snatched it out of my hand hastily and insisted that I give her change. Coins, that is. So, I unzipped my wallet, and right as I emptied the coins into my hand, the clerk scooped them out of mine and into her own. Was she really in that much of a rush that she wouldn’t even allow the customer to count her own coins? What was I? Just another incompetent tourist? I brushed it off and gave her the benefit of the doubt – maybe she was having a particularly bad day… She returned the extra coins and set the rest of my change and receipt down onto the counter. I barely had enough time to stuff my money back into my wallet before she proceeded to scan the items of the next customer. I looked over at the pile of groceries that I still had to pack into one single plastic bag before they were overlapped by the next customer’s items. I felt panicked. Here I was, trying my best to fit into the Roman culture, but instead, I looked like a silly tourist who couldn’t even bag her own groceries at a quick enough pace. I clumsily shoved them into the plastic bag. How is this a convenient procedure to check out? I felt overwhelmed and pressured to get out of there as fast as I could.

My first experience at Despar was indeed traumatic, but as the weeks passed, I became more and more accustomed to the routine in a Roman grocery store. I could easily slip in and out, without receiving a nasty glare from the clerks. In fact, when I was at Despar towards the end of my stay in Rome, I remember standing in line behind a helpless tourist and his family who were getting lectured by the clerk because they didn’t know they had to print out a price sticker for their bananas. I could only stand there and smile because it was not too long ago that I was once struggling with the Roman check-out procedure.