Understanding how things are done is important when you are in someone else’s country.

When I first moved to the US (to Erie, PA) one of my first culture shock activities was buying groceries. I remember wandering up and down Peach Street (THE main shopping area in Erie) looking for anything that looked like a Tesco or similar (Tesco was the largest food retailer in the UK when I left there in 2004, but these days I have no idea as it’s been wracked by management wrongdoings).

I figured head to the Mall (Shopping Centre). But alas Millcreek Mall is full of clothes, sporting goods and Starbucks. Not a single tin of beans in sight. In the UK you will usually find grocery stores like Tesco in the shopping centres. So I was applying cultural context, but it was wrong.

Eventually I gave up, and the next day confessed my failure to one of my colleagues, asking for help. They smiled and said one word. Wegmans.

That night I drove up Peach Street until I saw it, up on a hill. The Wegmans!

How would you like to pay sir?

Walking in it was both foreign and familiar. Aisles of cereal, bins of fruit, fridges full of ice cream. But a lot of unfamiliar brands. And new things that would forever be imprinted on the consciousness of my sweet tooth. (As an aside Swedish Fish are the spawn of the devil but SOOOOOOO good. I dare you to try one and then seal that stupid packet back up. It won’t happen my friend. It won’t happen).

As I rolled my trolley/cart towards the register/checkout, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I’d come, I’d saw and I had conquered. Alright I still couldn’t find the bloody Digestives but I did at least have a chicken and some salad. I was a man of my own destiny and diet!

Then it happened. “Paperoplastic”.

The young woman at the end of the conveyor was looking at me, and from her expression whatever she just asked was a question.

“Excuse me?” I replied, watching her expression to try to gauge what the bloody hell she wanted so early into the transaction.

“Paperoplastic”. The word wasn’t one I knew. All my education. Extensive reading. Years spent writing professionally (I was a technical author early on in my career) were for nought. Thinking rapidly I looked for some clue or etymology in the word. Paperoplastic.

Paper. O. Plastic. Could it be? Paper or Plastic? Yes! Maybe, just maybe! And if so what was she asking me?

The epiphany

In a lightbulb moment I surmised she was asking me did I want to pay cash, or use a credit card. Yes! That had to be it!

“Plastic!” I said with complete confidence (the English may lack language skills in many cases, but by the gods we can sound confident saying anything).

Nodding, she began to bag my purchases. Cool. I didn’t even have to pack the stuff.

The next day I was chatting to my same teammate, and regaled him with the story. As he shook his head and told me that she was asking if I wanted the food packed in plastic or paper bags, I realised I had a long way to go.

And so, 13 years later.

Walking into a Masxmenos in Escazú reminded me of that experience in Erie. I’d found it by searching Google for “groceries near me” and been offered a map with directions to get me there (Google is our digital colleague now I guess). I walked the aisles of cereal, fruit and ice cream. Albeit the signs were in Spanish (and again Google Translate came to the rescue) and there was the familiar mixed in with the strange, but I had that trolley/cart of food 🙂

As I approached the checkout, the cashier looked up at me. I could see the Gringo detector come on in his eyes as he cheerily said “hello” instead of “hola”. I was slightly relieved as my Spanish is still minimal (that will change over time and I always have my mate Google with me if I get into a mess).

“Hola” I replied (I love to cause confusion don’t I).

As I looked at the man packing my bags, I’m relieved to see there was only plastic available.

LTPV!

Gary