Shopping mad

The concept of a 'five items or less' till has yet to occur to German supermarket owners. Or so it would appear. Regardless of how many things you wish to buy - and this ranges from the old guy with one cabbage, one salami and a bottle of cloudy apple juice (why??) to the stressed mother with heaving trolleyful of family-orientated groceries (me), you are forced to queue up at the one and only till that is open. This, I have observed, has led to the evolution of most aggressive and selfish behaviour amongst German shoppers.

Firstly, if it is you with the full trolley, you must resign yourself to hatred from all sides. You are entirely to blame, for why don't you adopt the little and often motto, like a good housewife should? Secondly, people pick their moments to queue up, and when they deem the line too long, they simply carry on perusing the fine goods - and there are many to be had - until there is a lull in proceedings, at which point they charge to the till like a buffalo fleeing a lion. Once in the queue, everyone eyes the other, as yet unmanned, tills, knowing that sooner or later, an assistant will come back from their fag break and utter the hallowed words "anyone want to come to me?" When this happens, a split-second decision must be made - do you stay or go? Hesitate too long, and the decision is made for you, as half your queue dashes over there, not caring who or what they damage in their quest to be first in the new queue. And you are left standing, with bruised toes, experiencing a strange sense of loss.

Let us not forget the customer who, indeed, has five items or less. For some reason, the German shopper believes this entitles him or her to jump the queue. Now, we've all been there. You pop in for a bag of apples and a lightbulb, only to find yourself queueing for ten minutes behind people with heaving trolleys. The uninitiated, stupid or altruistic of us - and tourists - will simply accept our lot and wait our turn. Most people, however, will either ask outright if they can go in front of you - and it takes guts to refuse them, believe me - or they deploy indirect but intimidating threat tactics, which can involve sighing, glaring, complaining to the person behind them, or a mixture of all three. There is only one way to deal with this. Avoid all eye contact, stare fixedly in front of you, and ignore them. Even a tiny chink in your armour will be exploited, so stay strong and focus on the thought that you have EVERY RIGHT to pay and escape first.

To compensate for this, there will be days when you are feeling magnanimous, and there might be someone behind you who is NOT trying to jump the queue. Here's what you do. Turn to them, smile benignly and say something along the lines of, oh, is that all you've got? Please, go in front of me - I have so much and you so little, to which they will say, are you sure??? And you nod, and they beam gratefully, and all the people in front of you feel compelled to let them past too. The last glimpse you have of the five-items customer is them skipping happily back to their car, marvelling at the generosity of human nature. And that more than makes up for the other people hating you, doesn't it?

You may think me bitter and twisted. Perhaps you have popped into a German supermarket once or twice and had a rare old time, and cannot for the life of you imagine how I can spout such cynical claptrap. But you see, the above observations are based on years of patient study, and thousands of trips to all the main supermarket chains. Believe me, I know my onions.

Home Thoughts From A Broad

Blogging is a bit like cleaning windows. The longer you leave it, the more of a task it becomes. Until one day, you think RIGHT. Let's get to it. And once it's done, you feel so much better! Well, I haven't cleaned my windows, but I was getting weary of prods from various people and complaints that I hadn't written a thing in over two months.

The thing is, I am not a reluctant housewife any more. I squeeze bits of housewifery in between other, more important tasks, such as going to work, or writing about computer-assisted translation tools. I have frosted glass windows that were previously transparent. I look out at the garden (with some difficulty) and sigh with relief that the enduring icy temperatures render any horticultural activity impossible.

Furthermore, I have more or less got used to Bovinia. There is nothing of amusement to report. The cashiers in the village shop are as unfriendly as ever. I got such a shock when, after two weeks in customer-orientated England, I popped in there to stock up on mango chutney. Scrabbling for small change in my purse, I remarked to the male unfriendly cashier that I still had pennies abound, and wouldn't it be great if the UK joined the euro? To which he gave me a blank look and held his hand out, wordlessly. Yes, that is one thing the Brits do really well. Chatting at the till. Niceties and smiles and all those things that make you feel you've had a pleasant shopping experience. You like it so much that you go back the next day, and they say oh hello, how are you? And you smile, and the old lady in the cake and biscuit aisle smiles too, so you buy some more fattening delicious products and while you're there, would you be interested in our three-for-the-price-of-one Cadbury's offer? Love it.

While in England, I got to wondering why I like it there so much. Particularly in December, when even the most bucolic of scenes looks grey and uninspiring. The rain and wind were buffeting the fairy lights and everywhere I went people were wearing dreadful Christmas jumpers and Santa hats. It would be unfair to even try to compare it all with the pure, wild beauty of the alpine scenery here. I worked out that my criteria for enjoying a country are:
1) can I get fresh hummus nearly everywhere I go; 2) as a vegetarian, am I regarded as a normal and valued citizen; 3) do people in general smile and make jokes (even lame ones: it's the thought that counts) and 4) do I have to pay every time I use a public convenience?

Talking of public conveniences, these are a phenomenon I usually avoid like the plague. But when you are on a long car journey, there are times when needs must. You may or may not be familiar with the Sanifair system in German motorway service stations. Let me enlighten you: the (recently increased) price of 70 cents allows you the privilege of relieving yourself in a clean, musak-pervaded environment, including toothless assistant and one of those hand-dryers that makes your skin look like that of an eighty-year old's. Children under a certain height can get in free, and there is a child-shaped hole in the turnstile for this very purpose. Of course, not everybody wants to pay the 70 cents. As I stood waiting for my family to reemerge, I caught several people squeezing themselves through the child hole. This makes life tough for the toothless attendant, who must divide his or her time between disinfecting the bowl and policing the turnstile (because even the most brazen of adults cannot really pretend to be seven years old.) The funniest thing I saw, however, was an elderly lady exiting the ladies'. Baffled and probably thinking she had to pay to get out, too, she contorted herself through the kids' exit. Her husband - thought himself a bit of a wag, obviously - said (not unkindly), those days are long gone for you, old thing. They shuffled off together to be verbally abused at the shop counter.