An American Tourist Grocery Shopping in Rome
I enjoy grocery shopping and cooking immensely. So when I managed to book my first trip to Rome, Italy I of course became extremely eager to experience the wonders of shopping at Italian grocery stores with the locals and savor the delectable Italian cuisine. As soon as I arrived at the airport I tracked down a taxi, gave the driver my destination, and headed on to the city. The drive into Rome was absolutely enchanting. The streetlights’ muted glow of yellow illuminated the buildings in the dark night just enough so that I knew they were there and they appeared beautiful in a way that I suppose only Roman buildings could. As the taxi approached the heart of Rome we crossed the Tiber River, which seemed to have the moon glazing its water as it danced upon the crystal lined surface.
My taxi finally arrived at the Campo di Fiori and the driver told me the total cost was 60 euro, which I found to be confusing since the meter in the car read 40.07 euro exactly. As I gestured to the meter, my advocate for an honest price, and presented my driver with a puzzled look he startled to wave his hands and said, “Night fare, night fare.” “Oh ok, I guess that makes more sense,” I thought to myself and just before I started to move for my wallet he said, “I give you special price, I give you special price…50 euro.” How sweet, he was offering me a better price and not trying to scam me at all. I paid the driver without any question of his moral integrity or sincerity. I was excited if this was to be a good foreshadowing of how all the other Italians were going to treat me while visiting their city.
The next morning, I set out determined to resolve my ever-increasing hunger for some really phenomenal Italian food. I wandered down the alleys, with my Eyewitness travel book in hand, wide eyed, looking for something that would resemble a grocery store. With a couple of turns down random alleys in the Campo, some of which seemed to take me in a circle, I found my “Mecca;” I had found a grocery store, named Punto. Granted it was the smallest little hole in the wall establishment I had ever seen and I had expected something a little grander in stature (I thought Italians were suppose to be really serious about their food), but I was so excited all expectations completely escaped from my mind.
I entered, grinning, even drooling a little at the thought of some delicious Italian treats, and then my euphoria was enhanced as I intersected with the strong aroma of something incredibly fishy. The fragrance was so strong I could feel the flesh peeling off from inside my nasals. I have to say it was the most enjoyable burning sensation I had ever experienced. I suppose I have always delight in a bite of physical pain when I’m commencing grocery shopping. I proceeded to commandeer a shopping cart and then continue on into the rest of the store.
As I strolled through the first aisle I took note of the petite size of the store and its adorably dwarfed aisles. This had to be the most claustropho-bically comfortable grocery store I had ever been in. I felt like the other shoppers and I were snuggled together in the aisle of dairy and bread. Considering the size of the aisle, we might as well be camping out somewhere and cramming oh cozily into the same airtight sleeping bag. Grocery shopping here was going to be a great way to get to know the Roman people, and fast.
Next, I perused the aisle swarming with the vast pasta selection. As I pondered my different choices - farfelle, spaghetti, tortellini, linguine – I seemed to be pushed around by the determined Italian shoppers. They grazed and clipped my cart in such routine way; they truly made me feel at home. There’s really nothing like a little battery at the grocery store to make you feel accepted and loved. This hustle and bustle activity continued throughout the rest of the store, all 36 square feet of it. Every time I reached for something someone else was right behind me trying to help themselves to the supplies they obviously needed to have more instantly than myself. When in Rome, I guess people are in more of a hurry. Their pushing and shoving around me couldn’t possibly be a sign of their dislike for me or of their inherently rude natural. This is not even possible.
Finally, it was time to check out after profusely weaving my cart around in order to allow those eager Roman shoppers to pass along their way. Besides my task of shopping is always accomplished in a more efficient manner when I let someone’s or some people’s pushiness guide my every move. I got to the check out line and then it was my turn to pay for my stuff. The clerk rang up my total, 21.38 euro. All I had was one of the 50 euro bills the atm has spit out to me that morning. When I handed the bill to the check out woman, her eyes seemed to radiate a certain hatred for my very existence and her chin curled up as her bushy brows started to severely furrow. Apparently she wanted me to give her some smaller change, but I simply threw my arms up in the air out of helplessness to demonstrate to her that I had no other way to pay, other than that 50 euro bill that was so outrageously unacceptable to her. As she reluctantly counted out the change she need to give to me, I saw that she was so kindly giving me back all of my change in coins alone. Thankfully she was doing this so that my wallet would way at least a metric ton, thus making me feel rich and fully prepared to pay someone in smaller change when the need should arise again.
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3 comments:
Lauren, for the most part I liked the satire. I really like the use of hyperbole sneaked in there now and again. My favorite line is when you describe the rest of the store as being all of “36 square feet.” You can really feel the claustraphobiness throughout this section which means that you made good choices in selecting your words.
My critique of the story concentrates on its beginning. I thought the descriptions you give of the drive into the city does a nice job of showing and not telling. However, it seemed a little out of place in the context of the rest of the piece. The satirical tone, especially towards the end, seems to call for light-hearted, less dense descriptions. I thought that the line, “The streetlights’ muted glow of yellow illuminated the buildings in the dark night just enough so that I knew they were there and they appeared beautiful in a way that I suppose only Roman buildings could,” would have been perfect in a more serious, reflective piece, but not so much in a satirical one.
"How sweet, he was offering me a better price and not trying to scam me at all." Haha. I loved that. Good job on that bit. The rest of the story is consistently witty, as well. The tone was light--well chosen to make the author's satire all the more ironic. I liked the form and construction. The sentences were varied in length and composition, and the ideas easily understandable.
There were a few things I didn't like. The satirical qualities of the narrative wore a bit thin at points, or so it seemed to me. In the description of the interior of the supermarket, I didn't really feel much was being satirized but its petite size. This had already been stated, and got a bit old for me.
If it were my choice, I would not have gone for a narrative form. I would have chosen a third person format, because I think it allows more freedom for an invisible narrator to satirize a wide variety of people or institutions. Also, I think that the use of third person allows for greater depth of character and development.
I do think it was good overall, and I liked the "oh it's so true" moments I had, for example when you write that "Every time I reached for something someone else was right behind me trying to help themselves to the supplies they obviously needed to have more instantly than myself." (Though I think that you need a comma after something and "myself" should be changed to "I did.")
Oh and in "I could feel the flesh peeling off from inside my nasals," shouldn't it be "nostrils," not "nasals?"
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