Have you ever seen supermarkets? Good. Over the years, they've become one of society's best mirrors.
Once upon a time, there was a deli owner down the street, the one who knew every detail of his customers. Today, however, all it takes is a half-hour stroll through the shelves, the produce section, and the checkout counters to understand how some people see the world and, more importantly, how they think the world should revolve around them.
You can find absolutely everything at the supermarket. Just look.
And if you're having the right day, have a lot of patience, and can take life philosophically, grocery shopping can turn into a free comedy show.
The corridor ninjas
Let's start with the distracted. Or those who seem distracted.
You find them standing in front of you with their phones to their ears, motionless in the exact center of the aisle. Or they wander aimlessly, staring at the shelves as if searching for the meaning of life among the pasta and cookies.
For ten minutes they don't have to buy anything.
Then you arrive.
Do you need to weigh fruit?
Suddenly they have to weigh the fruit.
Do you need some bread?
They too remember that they need bread.
Are you entering the detergent aisle?
Incredible: at that very moment they discover that they have run out of detergent.
They are ninjas.
You don't hear them coming. You don't know where they're coming from. You just know that five seconds ago they weren't there, and now they're right in front of you.
Those who want their jobs kept
Then there are the eternally distracted, this time authentic.
They are the ones who leave the cart and disappear.
After a few minutes they reappear but demand that you have performed the security service for free.
“Was he saving my seat?”
No.
But above all: why?
Then the motivations begin.
“My dog is outside and he needs to pee.”
“I left the car running.”
“I have the air conditioning on.”
“My phone is running out of battery.”
All that's missing is someone to say:
“I have to go home and check if I turned off the gas, will I be queuing until tomorrow?”
And you're left there wondering if this test of patience will ever end.
The queens of the supermarket
Then they arrive.
The staff's acquaintances.
Mainly women, but the category is absolutely transversal.
They enter the supermarket with the confidence of those who appear to own at least 51% of the company shares.
They wave to the right.
They wave to the left.
They smile at the cashier.
They speak to the counter clerk.
They know the one about gastronomy.
Perhaps they even took communion together with the director.
This familiarity seems to automatically grant some imaginary privileges.
They arrive at the checkout, leave their cart in line and disappear.
The box is freed up in the meantime.
Thirty seconds pass.
A minute.
Two minutes.
Eventually, someone naively moves the cart and tries to proceed.
And then they reappear out of nowhere.
“Excuse me, but can’t you see I’m in line?”
No, ma'am.
In reality we only saw an abandoned cart.
Then, almost as if to publicly demonstrate their rank, they approach the cashier and begin a conversation in low voices.
The scene clearly communicates:
“You are customers. I am at home.”
But the real masterpiece comes later.
Once paid, they use both sides of the bagging area simultaneously.
Envelopes on the right.
Envelopes on the left.
Bags in the middle.
Cross carriage.
A small customs barrier.
And of course, the pre-filled envelopes are left exactly where everyone needs to go.
Then sometimes the miracle happens.
The director arrives.
Or a cashier who knows the character well.
And that sentence comes out, capable of re-establishing the democratic order for a few seconds:
“Ma’am, you have to move the bags.”
Or, in the most spectacular cases:
“Madam, the card won't go through. Is there money on it?”
And suddenly the supermarket goes back to being a place where all human beings are equal.
Those who don't let you pass
Another wonderful category: those with a cart that could guarantee the food survival of an apartment building for six months.
You have a yogurt instead.
A.
Or a cheese.
You stand behind them.
They see you perfectly.
But suddenly they develop a very selective form of blindness.
They look forward.
They look at the ceiling.
They check the phone.
They look at the offers on batteries with great interest.
You wait.
Then maybe you'll find the courage to ask:
“Excuse me, I only have to pay this. Could you let me in?”
And here comes the philosophical answer:
“Hey, young man, a little patience. Your turn is coming too.”
Thank you.
Finally someone explained to us how time works.
Sometimes the cashier intervenes.
“Let him pass.”
And there the protest can start.
But when the cashier adds:
“He's a friend of mine.”
Or cousin, brother, sister, uncle, niece, nephew, mother, father, or acquaintance by marriage up to the fourth degree, then suddenly the right of precedence becomes understandable.
Those who make the revolution at the checkout
Then there are those who, as soon as they see five people in line, go into popular insurrection mode.
“It's disgusting!”
“There are few open boxes!”
“I know the director!”
“We need to call someone here!”
“I'm not saying this for myself, I'm saying this for everyone!”
This is the most important sentence.
They never do it for themselves.
They do it for the community.
They are practically spontaneous unionists in the frozen food department.
They shout for the people.
They fight for freedom.
They defend the universal right to have at least seven cash registers open at the same time.
Then someone, just to make them stop, says:
“Okay, move on.”
And immediately the revolution ends.
The social battle is over.
The people can wait.
They don't.
Professional fruit tasters
There are those who touch fruit without gloves.
An apple.
Two apples.
Three apples.
Four apples.
They take them.
They turn them.
They crush them.
They put them back down.
Then maybe someone will point out:
“Excuse me, you should wear gloves.”
And they reply:
“But I then buy the ones I touch.”
Really?
Because in the meantime you've inspected half of Emilia-Romagna's agricultural production.
You touched ten apples, six peaches, and four tomatoes.
At this point we wait for you to arrive at the checkout with a pallet.
In the end, just smile
In short, there really is something for everyone in supermarkets.
There are the distracted ones.
The clever ones.
The imaginary privileged.
The cash register revolutionaries.
The corridor ninjas.
Those who have to buy exactly the thing you are getting.
Those who are only in a hurry when they have to wait.
There's probably only one secret: look at everything with a little irony.
Because getting angry is of little use.
Better to smile, finish your shopping and leave.
With a little hope.
Let karma take its course sooner or later.
Maybe just as the smart guy on duty has finally arrived in front of the checkout.
And he discovers he forgot his wallet.
Common behaviors in supermarkets
Here's a summary of the most common behaviors you might observe in supermarkets, often a source of amusement and frustration.
- Distracted: People blocking the aisles while talking on the phone or getting lost among the shelves.
- Eternally distracted: Customers who leave their carts unattended and expect others to hold their place in line.
- Supermarket Queens: Customers who behave as if they have special privileges, ignoring the rules of conduct.
- Revolutionaries at the checkout: People protesting the long waits, often for the good of the community.
- Professional tasters: Customers who touch fruit without gloves, justifying their behavior with the intention of purchasing.
