The young man in the Coop supermarket yesterday was either a new kind of tourist, or a new kind of young man, or some prototype of either that I earnestly hope doesn’t move to the production phase.
It was simple, brief, insignificant encounter. Now that I think of it, the moment could have made a moderately useful sketch for first-year acting students.
But we weren’t acting, we (including him) were just living our own banal little lives, stuck in the narrow, crowded aisle amid bottles of olive oil, cans of tuna, and containers of tomatoes in almost every form (the tomatoes, I mean) — tubes of dense concentrate, bottles of thick liquid passata, or puree; cans of tomatoes peeled or pulped. Strange, now that I think of it, that tomato juice was missing.
Anyway, it’s always a challenge to shop in peak tourist season, and going late Saturday afternoon is just asking for trouble. Not only does everybody suddenly realize they have to get yogurt or potato chips or a bag of lemons or 8 six-packs of beer or whatever right then, but it being winter, everybody is taking up twice their space thanks to their bulky down jackets. Especially that tall, strapping young man with his back turned to me.
There was only one package left of three small cans of polpa, and it was far back on the top shelf. Bonus points because at that spot there is a small ramp and I was halfway down the incline, so I had no chance of reaching it myself. But I came for the polpa and I intended to get it.
Cue the tall, strapping young man! Destiny calls! You haven’t reached this height and weight just to waste time training for the varsity clean and jerk. Fate has placed you between a high shelf and a small woman and if you mess with fate you’re doomed to live the last act of “The Flying Dutchman” forever. I guess that’s a little redundant.
Did I mention he was German? Nothing against Germans, honestly, but somehow it matters. It went like this:
Me (one tap on very high shoulder).
He turns around. So far, so normal.
“Puoi tirare giu’ quello?” (pointing to distant object).
“I don’t speak Italian.” English, German accent.
“Could you pull that down for me?” In most of the civilized world — I use the term loosely — that’s generally regarded as a rhetorical question. But here I get a sublimely literal answer.
“Why? I don’t work here.” Completely serious. I already knew that he didn’t work here — it’s the “Why?” that haunts me. I will always regret not having thought to say “Neither do I.” Instead I just said “Do me a favor?” I’m so lame.
He reached up and pulled it down. Turned away. Moved on.
I started to laugh, it was so ridiculous. I hope he heard me.
And so now I dream of Germany, where life is beautiful all the time, you obey the law, follow the rules, stay in your lane, where life is constructed entirely of square pegs and round holes which always fit in their correct and corresponding spaces. This young man must feel like he’s come to a madhouse, here in Italy.
Still, he did leave me a present. “Why? I don’t work here” now sits in a very pretty little crystal box in my mind where I can admire it whenever I need a little boost.
29 Comments
Ha. If I knew the tourists nationality my reply to “why should I” would be, oh my goodness you must be (enter nationality) and smile bigly.
Happy New Year to my favorite Venition and her hubby!
It would be reasonably easy to guess most of the nationalities that come through here, but I have to apologize if I was too heavy on the Germans even if I know a few who superbly demonstrate a certain approach to life and other people that I consider regrettable. But then again, so do Americans, who I could pick out at 500 yards away. Let’s just agree that rudeness is decried in all civilized countries; the form it takes sometimes shows real ingenuity.
Cheers to both of you from us!
Oohhh, my. That young man would so easily be found in the USA. From a youth culture striving to show inclusivity and offendedness IN THE SAME LIFESTYLE, comes wonderfully laugh-worthy stuff. They might say “epically.” Your story is terrific.
Thanks for the compliment, but I honestly feel that I wouldn’t have had this encounter in the USA. Or at least I wouldn’t assume that I would have. Let’s all take some deep breaths anyway. The year seems to be getting off to too-fast a start already.
Thanks, Erla
We will share this at our local supermarket.
And happy New Year to you and Lino from Australia.
Send us all an update on your local supermarket’s response! And best of wishes to you both from us.
Love this vivid vignette! Coincidentally, whike shopping at the German-owned Aldi in Oshkosh before Christmas, I was happy to put my height & long arms to good use in aiding a couple of petite persons fetch top-shelf items.
Warm greetings to you & Lino as we all muddle into the new year.
Greetings, hugs, salutations to you and the family. Of course you put your long height, etc. to good use, you would never do otherwise. So the question is when are you going to come over and spend some time at the Coop?
Maybe he knows that once you start being polite things can get very complicated. For example, in that supermarket, if someone lets you in the line ahead of them, and if the checkout on the right suddenly opens so the queue can split into three, do you go ahead of the polite person and be the first to use the newly opened checkout, or do you stick with where you are (waiting for the person ahead to finish) and let the polite person be first at the newly opened checkout and so get out the door before you, sort of nullifying their politeness?
Apart from that, the German man might have learnt the lesson of history: don’t reach for what nature has put out of your reach.
Merry New Year Erla and Lino.
You’re taking a very dark turn here. The idea I grew up with, all those eons ago, was that being polite was everybody’s responsibility, not just some poor sucker who wasn’t able to figure out how the law of the jungle works. Nature may be red in tooth and claw, as the poet said, but if we’ve decided Nature’s got the right idea about communal living, I’d tell everybody to go ahead of me in the freaking line. If everybody decides that being polite (thoughtful, patient, kind, friendly, call it whatever you want) is a freaking waste of freaking time, I can’t let anybody get ahead of me, it’s a gladiatorial struggle to the death for me to get to the cash register 24 seconds sooner, then we deserve whatever world we’re living in. I don’t see being polite as creating complications, I see being self-centered and aggressive as stupid and pointless. But that’s just me. We return your good wishes with many more, thanks!
That’s a great story, Erla. It made me smile 😊
Mission accomplished!
I think this young man is more of a rare exception. I met very polite and friendly young people in Germany. Don’t worry)
I agree that he may well be a rare exception of young Germans IN GERMANY, as you say. But that’s a very different thing from seeing foreigners on vacation in Venice. If you spend any time here you will see people acting in weird, absurd, rude, irritating and inexplicable ways. It is almost certainly because they are on vacation in somebody else’s country, which means that they have liberated themselves from their usual habits (perhaps experienced as brutal restrictions of their freedom) back home. I could write a whole new post on the bizarre things I’ve seen people do here that I suppose they do not permit themselves in their home city, town, village, or temporary encampment. A random example from a few years ago: It was summer and I was standing in the crowd on the fondamenta in front of the church of the Redentore waiting for the races to start. I heard an odd crumpling sound behind me. I turned. An older French gentleman had taken his empty thin-cheap plastic cup, from which he naturally had been drinking something, and was crushing it into the space between the wall of the nearby building and its downspout. This was his solution to disposing of it where no trash bins were visible (an inexcusable problem here that is my own personal obsession). I stared at him, then said “What are you doing?” He made a vague helpless gesture to excuse himself because he had decided that there was no alternative to the disposal of his cup. “Find a bin,” I said. He continued to look helpless, but he removed the crumpled plastic cup. Of course I’m sure that many French people would not do that, but I can only add “at home.” It seems to be “game on” for many people from many countries to just do whatever they feel like here because nobody knows them and they’re on vacation. Live in the moment! Carpe diem! I’d welcome the chance to follow the young German man around in his native habitat for a day or two, but I can only tell you what I saw here.
Your story is a window into the ever evolving social norms and mores, thank you for this vignette of life Erla. We had a German friend, an “older” woman traveling solo, who got very sick while in a small family run hotel near Zurich, the receptionist was very kind and solicitous to her. When she checked out a few days later our friend thanked the receptionist and commented on her kindness, consideration and attentive care… the receptionist’s reply? “Why madam of course, I am Swiss and it is my job…”
PS: during our visits to Venice we have shopped many times at that Coop (Via Garibaldi) and remember that very ramp you described in the “tomato aisle”! It brought back a great load of memories… thank you Erla.
Delightful. Thanks!
I agree that the man was inexcusably rude. No question there. However, I am surprised that no one in the comments section mentioned your tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention. I am an American living in the U.S. and I thought it was a common knowledge these days that you do not put your hand on a stranger. There are several reasons why it’s a bad idea, I’m sure you can imagine a few. I would have gotten his attention verbally, starting with “Scusi…”
It’s not common knowledge in any part of Italy I’ve visited, and I’ve been in Venice for 31 years. Personal space and how people define and behave within it is very different here, and in most Mediterranean countries that I have spent more than five minutes in. “Common knowledge” doesn’t always travel very far from its own local territory. People here are more physically demonstrative than in the US, even with children. I might have gotten his attention by saying “Scusi,” sure, but that would assume he speaks Italian. Anyway, being American, I’m perfectly aware that in America people have different ideas about this. I assure you I wouldn’t dream of touching anybody in the US.
I am laughing with you. I have to ask for assistance with high shelves all the time. However no one has ever answered like this, yet…
I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I have to say that it was the “Why?” that got me. I understand that the staff doesn’t want customers risking their lives (fancy way of saying “suing them”) fending for themselves by climbing shelves. I understand if the askee doesn’t want to risk his/her somethingsomething by doing something that might — MIGHT — hurt them and/or get them sued. But these waters really aren’t that deep, Watson. Exculpating yourself from a fairly banal and common interaction for whatever reason just gets me. If his arm was in plaster or a sling obviously I wouldn’t even have cut him out of the herd with my request. But as often happens, the conversation heading toward “no” took longer than the action requested and has cluttered up my brain with thoughts made of styrofoam.
Too bad. A chauvinist text to begin the year. This young man was arrogant and ill-mannered so is your opinion about Germans and Germany.
Hi. I’m pondering your comment but I don’t want to reply too quickly. In the meantime, though, I checked the definition of “chauvinism.” The dictionary says: “1. Zealous and aggressive patriotism or blind enthusiasm for military glory. 2. Biased devotion to any group, attitude, or cause.” “Military glory” isn’t relevant here, though I suppose “zealous and aggressive patriotism” and “biased devotion to any group, attitude or cause” might apply. That wasn’t what I intended expressing in my little bagatelle, but more importantly, aren’t your comments more reflective of “chauvinism” than mine? That is a sincere question. Meanwhile, I will be thinking about how many descriptors I can remove from anything I write to ensure that I don’t offend anyone unintentionally. So far I’m up to age, nationality, gender, height, weight, hair color, marital status, number of children (or not), and personal income, if known. Maybe shoe size? Favorite color? Four of my best friends in the world are German and I haven’t heard from them yet as to how offended they are. I will update if they respond.
“Did I mention he was German? Nothing against Germans, honestly, but somehow it matters.”
“And so I dream of Germany, where life is beautiful all the time, you obey the law, follow the rules, stay in your lane, where life is constructed entirely of square pegs and round holes which always fit in their correct and corresponding spaces. This young man must feel he’s come to a madhouse, here in Italy.”
I repeat: an arrogant, ill mannered, chauvinist opinion.
(Wikipedia: “Chauvinism is the unreasonable belief in the superiority or dominance of one’s own group or people, who are seen as strong and virtuous, while others are considered weak, unworthy or inferior. The Encyclopaedia Britannica describes it as a form of “excessive and unreasonable” patriotism and nationalism, a fervent faith in national excellence and glory.”)
I suppose your German friends are too polite to embarrass you by reprimanding your text.
Do you consider an apology?
Today I was following an idle thought down a rabbit hole* and I found myself here, finding out all sorts of curious things and laughing a lot. I have never in my life been pleased to have ADHD but today it brought me here and I am the richer for it. Your writing is fantastic, thank you for sharing your observations, stories and all these fab bits of history. Zx
* It was: if a pirate escaping the collapse of the Golden Age of Piracy ended up in Venice in June 1724 – probably a Thursday (ish), would they have died of cholera? Don’t blame me [points at Death in Venice] he started it.
As for the young man in the shop, he was incredibly rude and you were much nicer about it than he deserved.
Thanks for the cheerful note and for taking my mind off my troubles by bringing up the always-interesting subject of cholera. Let’s say not everybody was infected, and not everybody who was infected died of the disease. So you’ve got a couple of important variables to play with. Just be glad you’re not them, or there, or then.
It may well be an international problem. At 5′ and half an inch (!) I often stress about items on high shelves in supermarkets. If I can find a tall young man, in England, and it’s usually easy, I ask, he reaches, I thank him, and we both get on with our day.
However, when I look round and there’s no-one near but a TALL young man in a suit, most elegant, brandishing a clip board, and often chatting to one of the prettiest assistants, my “party piece” is nowadays to walk up to him, and ask him to reach down the offendingly out-of-reach item.
At this point, his ladyfriend usually vanishes, or looks demure. Young man looks round helplessly, and up at shelf, then murmurs that he’ll “get an assistant to get it down for me.” I look at him, and say “You! you are tall enough and young enough, go on, do it yourself” With a bad grace, he does so. If I’m lucky he drops his clipboard, or his shirt pulls from his elegant trousers. The usual assistants, who tend to be short, and some of whom I know well, often have the giggles seeing the “Clipboard King” ( I believe paid twice what they are, to do barely half as much) having to oblige a customer.
I think it’s good for his soul!
Ella B
As I often sigh “the problem with common sense is that it’s not so common (anymore)”. The fact that you were able to just laugh at the rude klutz was great and it made an interesting story about how things are going. The arrogance and egoism that this youngster displayed is sad, really, but you even made that funny!
All the best!
Unfortunately I know, that Erla can recognise german accent, otherwise I would start a discussion here about prejudices, but I can’t. So I also started to laugh, and feel a bit second-hand-embarrissed.
Great story anyway.