June 07, 2007
It's just like... a mini mall
I'm not sure why being "just like a mini mall" is such a selling point, but I'm not from Alabama. I can't get enough of this video. Those eyes... those eyes...
Posted by Lee Clontz at 09:30 AM | Comments (0)
December 16, 2005
Grocery Shopping
I was at Publix last night picking up ingredients to make spinach dip for the holiday party at work, walking aisles, listening to music. The store was mostly empty because it was closing soon, so when an employee who I'd seen stocking the shelves in the cleaning supply aisle approached me as I was picking up some Dial hand soap, I figured he was telling me to get to a register so he could go home or had seen my iPod and wanted to ask about it.
"Excuse me, but what is this for?" He was gesturing to the hand soap. His English was heavily accented. Sounded eastern European.
I was confused by the question. "You mean the hand soap?"
He nodded. "Is soap? How is it like this?" He pulled a package of bar soap off of the shelf.
I pushed on the pump. "It's like for your hands, so the bar doesn't make a mess. My wife likes it in the kitchen."
He pantomimed the act of pumping the soap and rubbing his hands and nodded. "I've been here only two months," he said. "Still learning what everything is." He patted my arm as a thank you and walked back to his cart.
Feeling a little chagrined, I waved to him. "Welcome to America; hope it treats you well." He nodded and waved.
I wound my way around to frozen foods wondering how a guy gets to the US and ends up stocking shelves and yet has never seen hand soap. I pondered it while trying to decide it chopped spinach was the same thing as baby spinach and decided I didn't care all that much. It's just spinach dip for crying out loud.
I walked back across the aisles looking for the guy and he was still in the cleaning aisle, stocking the shelves. Every time he would take something out of the cart, he'd stare at the packaging trying to figure out what it was. I walked back down the aisle, pretending like I had a reason to be there. I asked him where he'd moved from. He said he'd moved from Russia and was living in an apartment.
"Manager here was very nice and gave me a job, though my English is not very good." He gestured around the aisle. "In Russia, we have none of this. I look at it and don't know what it is." He picked up some Arm and Hammer Pet Fresh Carpet and Room deodorizer. "I know this is baking soda, but pets." He pointed at the hand soap and body wash. "In Russia, none of this. We have this." He picked up a package of bar soap.
Now he was on a roll, walking down the aisle and pointing at other products. Glade Plug-in Refills. An absurd motorized Dawn-branded spinning brush for scrubbing the inside of drinking glasses. He pressed the button and it spun inside the package. "I don't know, this is for teeth?"
We talked a bit about how he came to America, but his accent kept me from totally comprehending his story. It was one of those conversations where you're one missed word away from being utterly confused, but I got most of it. He'd been in the Russian army in Afghanistan before becoming a policeman in Russia. I asked him why he left. "Mafia, mafia everywhere in everything." He mentioned his family and three months, but I didn't get what he was saying. If they're not here already, I hope they're on their way.
"Americans, everyone is so polite. Sir, sir, thank you, thank you. In Russia, if something like this," he walked past me and brushed against my shoulder, then grabbed my lapels as if to attack, saying "people give you this. In America, everyone much nice."
I told him my name and that my family was originally German. He thought that was interesting, even though the German goes too far back for me to have much command of that part of my history.
I told him I was glad for that and that my wife and I shopped at that store often and that I was sure I'd see him again. He had a hard time understanding what I was getting at. It's a real effort to drain your language of colloqualisms and to speak very simply, but I think he got the idea. I told him I lived nearby and he was curious whether it was a house or an apartment. Not sure why that was interesting.
We shook hands and said goodbye. When I was leaving, I saw a trainer helping him out, showing him where other products go. I can't imagine what it must be like walking around in thousands of square feet of products when you've never even seen hand soap, or living among such material abundance in Decatur, Ga. when you've served in the Russian police force and fought a losing battle to occupy Afghanistan. Made me forget about the iPod and chopped spinach for a while which, this time of year, can only be a good thing.
Posted by Lee Clontz at 11:05 AM | Comments (0)