Supermarket (Супермаркет)

We got paid this week and so my friend and I planned a big grocery store excursion. As usual, my hubby stays home with all seven kids while she and I venture into the cold to bring home the bacon. This morning we left the house at 10am. This was good because we were hoping to have missed the morning traffic. Then we remembered----there is no rhyme or reason to Moscow traffic ergo, there is always traffic. It took us only 40 minutes to get to the store.

You may ask, “Why this store,” or “can’t you go somewhere else?” The answers would be yes and if I go somewhere else, their produce might not be fresh, there may be funky tasting cheese there, or worse yet, and it may not have cases of milk that I can buy in bulk to freeze. Which brings me to my next observation: There are malls galore here, but each one of them has a supermarket as an anchor. Can you imagine stopping by the Buckle, stepping into Claire’s and then hitting Food-A-Rama on your way out?

We parked the car, grabbed a cart, and headed into the store. But first we have to stop to get our canvas grocery bags stapled into a plastic bag. This way we can’t steal stuff. I used to shop very methodically. I would begin in dairy and work my ways up and down each aisle grabbing what I need and ending up in the produce. Not here. Here I get to bag, weigh, and label my own produce and skip whole aisles because they are restocking during rush hour. Anyway, after I loaded my cart down with an obscene amount of items (believe me, there was staring) I tried to head toward a cash register.

Now, something to keep in mind----all four wheels on the cart swivel. So imagine my cart weighing about 200 pounds now requires all of my body weight just to keep it on course. This is assuming there is room to maneuver. But there isn’t. Today must be national shopping day. When I reached for a carton of milk, I’m pretty sure I grazed a woman’s shin/calf area. She didn’t seem to notice. There is no “pardon me” or “would you mind if I reached above you?” Oh no. People just move to where they want to be. I’m getting pretty good at this. There is one exception to this rule.

IF YOU TOUCH MY SHOES, MY DIRTY LOOKS JUST MIGHT KILL YOU.

I am not exaggerating. Russians take their shoes very seriously. Note to self, do not touch shoes with cart.

Once at the checkout, I’m wondering why I showered today. I heave all of my items onto a belt about the size of a yardstick. My cashier is not impressed that I am American. She is flinging my stuff past the belt so fast that she actually yells and points that I need to start bagging it. This would be great except that my cart is still full! So I try to find balance between heaving things onto the belt and then heaving them back off the belt, cartless. This goes on for what seems like a natural lifetime. I wonder to myself if she is going to call one of the roller-skating managers to swoop in on the current slowpoke. No big deal, it gave her time to flirt with the security guard.

Despite all this, today was a breakthrough.

The last two shopping trips I have had to bum money off my friends because I still haven’t got the ruble quite figured out. Not today. I brought double what I hoped to pay and had plenty to spare. I proudly paid the woman the exact amount (including kopecks) and pushed my cart into the foyer to take a breather. There was sweat running down my neck and elbows. There will be no exercise routine for me today.

I knew what was coming next. The exit. I had one bag on each shoulder and a cart loaded down with swiveling wheels. I barely made it onto the magnetic walking belt in one piece. Three bags of frozen corn jumped ship on the way down. I heroically rescued them and vowed not to buy so many next time. Once we made it back to the van, we loaded up all our stuff. The trip back was much faster and we made it home in an almost new record- 3 ½ hours total! Good thing I bought Kraft Macaroni and Cheese on Amazon ‘cause guess what’s for dinner tonight?