I have been meaning to write about the grocery store experience here. I always find grocery stores in other countries quite interesting. It’s a place you might expect to be quite similar in different countries and different continents. This is largely true. There are aisles of items, grocery carriages, baskets, check out lines and cashiers. Well, in India there are not so much lines as masses of people that congregate near the cash registers, openly cutting other people.
There are a few different grocery store chains here but the closest to me is Enne. It’s about 2 blocks from my house so I can easily walk with groceries. I do admit that having to buy 5-liter jugs of drinking water prevents any grocery run from being light. There are nicer grocery stores a little further away. For instance, there is Cada but it’s really not worth the walk. I do not say this because I am lazy but simply because a longer walk also means more opportunity to be harasses on the street, which I try to minimize.
Enne is most comparable to Market Basket, for those of you from Massachusetts (Cada would be more like a Shaw’s). And not just any Market Basket, but the sketchy, dirty one on John Fitch Highway in Fitchburg. It has the basics. Sometimes it doesn’t, depending on the general food shortages. It’s really the people that make the experience. There is no rhyme or reason to the way carts are pushed. Aisles are narrow. I’m often stuck in traffic jams, and I just carry a single basket! The lines are always long, no matter which day or time you go. People often have you hold their place in line while they do half their groceries. People will sneakily, awkwardly stand between lines to then dart in front of you if yours moves faster, as if they were always really in that line. Reminds me of the women that can’t wait for their turn in the restroom either. The best instance of this was in the Panama airport. I was on the same flight as a Fulbrighter in Colombia and as we waited in line (the airport just doesn’t have enough bathrooms), two women (presumably Panamanian, as I couldn’t identify their accent) pushed to the front of the line to ask if there was a line. They settled not exactly behind us but beside us. A telltale signal that they’ll try to cut or talk their way in front of us One apparently just couldn’t handle it and was practically jumping around like a child. Her friend was standing so closely behind me I couldn’t move an inch. Next thing you know, she has her hands in my hair! I became accustomed to this after children in Bolivia often touched it when they sat behind me in public transportation, but this was a bit more odd. I mostly pretended not to notice as she marbled at my hair. Meanwhile, my traveling companion was firm with the jumping lady, explaining that we were all in the same position and must wait our turns.
I digress. Back to the grocery store, where the cashiers are seated, which isn’t so strange. Some cashiers have an additional employee standing next to them, observing their work. It’s unclear if they are training. They often stare at me until one of them gets up the nerve to ask where I am from. I usually make the joke, “How could you tell I’m not from Maracaibo?” I don’t appear to belong here anymore than a duck would among a flock of swans. Then there are the swarms of young men and boys that work at the store bagging groceries, helping people out with carts, unloading groceries into car trunks, etc. There are almost always many more than there is work for them to do.
The customers. Well, today I saw the most interesting case. She was unloading her groceries onto the conveyor belt across from mine. No one could help but notice her shove her cell phone between her breasts. Needless to say, her shirt was low-cut enough to do this in one swift movement. When she finished, the cell phone didn’t come out. I don’t think I will be adopting this method of freeing up my hands. The woman two people ahead of me in line had just about every item price-checked and ended up only purchasing half of what was in her cart. Then her cart practically landed in my middle as she aimlessly tried to get it out of the way. Finally, of the male employees pretty much mopped my feet as he tried to clean up our aisle. In a store with so much traffic, the floor is never clean. Mind you, I just picked out some of the more vivid details. To say Enne is hectic is a bit of an understatement. Considering my refrigerator is small, I go through at least once if not twice a week. If you’re not in a rush, it’s amusing if not almost fun.
In the vein of commenting about quotidian observations, I think I’ll go ahead and describe the “Centro de Comunicaciones.” Yes, a “Communications Center” has sprung up near CEVAZ. One day a couple of weeks ago, a woman was seated in a plastic lawn with several cell phones on her lap. This is not so uncommon, where you can pay to make all kinds of calls for a few bolivares fuertes per minute. A few days later, a making plastic table appeared. Soon after, an umbrella was added. The next week, there was a stand with a professionally made sign on it advertising “Centro de Comunicaciones” and a list of the telephone services they offer. Some misspelled, of course. There you have it—the rise of a “communications center.”
Finally, it’s worth mentioning that my landlord has insisted on giving me a Chavez t-shirt for the vote on the 15th. It is red, of course, and the front reads “UH AH la enmienda Si VA” (yes to the amendment). A sing-song chant has been started by chavistas. It goes, “Uh ah, Chavez no se va” (Chavez isn’t going). The back repeats the front with the following list below it in small font, repeated four times:
POR MI DERECHO A VOTAR (for my right to vote)
POR MI LIBERTAD A ELEGIR (for my freedom to choose)
PARA QUE EL PUEBLO DECIDA (for the people to decide)
He firmly relieves Chavez will win a week from now. We’ll just have to see. At first, I thought he expected me to wear the shirt but then he joked that it will make a good souvenir so I don’t think I’ll be disappointing anyone by keeping it in my room.
