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.
15 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 😊
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.