The supermarket

It is possible that I have written about the Israel Supermarket Experience before. If I have, please forgive me. There really should be a board game about what happens in these places, but that is for another time.

Even though I am in the Holy Land, I forget that my kids don’t eat certain rabbinical certifications. You would think it would be easier to shop here than it is in America but, alas, it is not. And I accidentally bought something that could be eaten only by me (surprise, surprise). And since I am here to help my kids, I had to return it. Yes, I am currently patting myself on the back.

So I go back to the scene of the crime with Matzo Ball in tow. This particular supermarket is the only one in the shtetl that has roomy aisles to walk down. You cannot fit a stroller in most of the supermarkets — I wish I was kidding. As a side note, the other day I was in a different supermarket (surprise, surprise) and I could fit the stroller to pay for my goods, but I couldn’t get through to leave said market. Two other customers with strollers had already lined up behind me, and I had to inform them that I could not exit the line, and everyone had to back up. Since the people behind me spoke only Hebrew, it was even more amusing.

It was a sight to behold, but I digress.

Matzo Ball and I had the receipt to return the not-kosher-enough-for-primetime apricot preserves, and we waited at an empty customer service desk. Eight minutes go by, and a very unfriendly older woman with dyed red hair and bright pink lipstick trudged behind the desk and looked at me like I had leprosy. 

Israel Babka is a lot friendlier than America Babka. I am always smiling and saying, “Shalom.” Matzo Ball is even friendlier, and he waves at everyone and wishes them a good Shabbos every day of the week. So I was convinced we could break this woman and get her to smile. Forget about me, how can anyone resist Matzo Ball?

I start to tell her that I am there to return something and I have the receipt and I showed her what it was, and she continued to give me this stare that should have turned me to stone. She proceeded to type something and told me to put my card in the machine. Once, twice, three times…it wasn’t working. This was not helping me get this woman to smile. If anything, I thought her face was going to actually crack and fall off. 

Finally, she took my card and got it to work. I thanked her profusely and gave her a big smile (as for Matzo Ball, he is usually smiling.) and I asked, “Would you like me to put these back on the shelf?”

“Of course you are going to put it back!” she snapped.

So Matzo Ball and I put the apricot preserves back on the shelf and walk back to the customer service desk to leave the store. This store, along with its spacious aisles, has metal barriers that open only if you scan your receipt or if the security guy is there. (We won’t go into what the security guy looks like, but picture an older greeter at Walmart.)

Well, he wasn’t there, I didn’t have a receipt, and the scary woman who was sitting at the desk motioned to me that I had to go all the way around the store to leave. But I still smiled at her and thanked her for the extra steps I would be getting.

When Matzo Ball and I got to the main exit, I still didn’t have a receipt, and the security guard still wasn’t there, but a very nice lady let me “sneak out” behind her (my days of being able to “sneak out” of anywhere are long gone, but I often commend my daughters-in-law on their ninja-like movements. I never hear them coming, but I turn around, and there they are. (This has nothing to do with the story, but whatever.)

The mean lady never smiled and I never found apricot preserves that were kosher enough, but spending time with Matzo Ball, Danish, and their families — priceless.

Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck is looking forward to moving in with Matzo Ball and his sister and his parents. It will be fun for everyone!