Supermarket Sit-Com

Honestly some days you couldn’t dream it up. If what happened today was put to paper for a TV script no one would believe it.

I’m standing in a queue at the supermarket checkout, there’s three people in front of me and the cashier runs out of change. So he leaves the till to fetch some from the office and the man in front of me shouts out, “Hurry up my friend’s outside waiting for me.” The cashier shoots him a glance but doesn’t respond. Upon his return he gives the lady waiting her change and starts to scan the next customer’s shopping.

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The action is paused again as the apples won’t scan, so the lady offers to fetch some more. She leaves the queue and goes to the fruit section and the man in front of me says, “Where’s she going? I’ll be late.” She returns with a new box of apples and they scan perfectly. The cashier leaves the till to put them aside to be returned later. “Where are you going now?” The man in front says, “I’ve already told you my friend is waiting for me outside.” The apples lady goes to pay with her card and puts in the wrong pin number. This causes more annoyance to the man in front of me and again he’s vocal, making sure everyone in the vicinity knows he’ll be late.

His turn comes and his shopping is scanned, the cashier asks for payment when the man suddenly leaves the queue to go back into the store as he’s forgotten to get ice cream.

Oh the irony.

The rest of us in the line start to snigger. He returns with his ice cream and as it’s scanned he remembers something else he’s forgotten. More sniggering takes place from the now bemused customers behind me. He returns with his forgotten item and as it’s scanned he goes to the exit door and waves to his friend who is pointing to his watch.

The man goes outside to briefly speak with his friend and the automatic doors close behind him. He then waves at the cashier asking him to open the doors. By now the cashier is laughing too and so waves to the man indicating that he must come in through the entrance and walk through the store again.

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The man is not a happy man when he arrives at the checkout again and he literally throws his payment at the man behind the counter, who with a devilish glint in his eyes says, “Wait here please while I go and fetch some more change from the office.” I glance over and can see that he ample coinage in the till, needless to say the man in front, tells him to keep the change and stomps off.

Lost in Translation

Before moving to Italy I used to enjoy spotting signs that were either spelt incorrectly or were unintentionally humorous. Here in Italy it’s much harder to find them as Italian is my second language and I’m still not fluent enough to spot any errors, so I have to rely mostly on finding translated mistakes. Here’s three pieces of text that have amused me recently.

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I like for this drink that the Italian instructions for use, instruct you store in the fridge and use within 2/3 days, however the English translation says, ‘consume within some days’. So nothing specific there then.

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The second is a photograph of the local Chinese restaurant menu. It’s not the misspelling of prawns or sauce that made me smile, it was the ‘chilly’ sauce. This simple oxymoron of a hot chilli sauce that’s advertised as being in need of a sweater to keep it warm made me smile.

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This final one appealed to my immature side and toilet humour, (no pun intended). It’s from a recent supermarket receipt and makes the two bottles of beer I’ve purchased less appealing. You could say the birra was a bit of a bum deal.

Selling Houses on Whatsapp

Selling real estate can be very rewarding, especially selling to people who have wanted to own a house in Italy for some time, you could say it’s like selling dreams. Most people I meet are charming and come with a list of likes and dislikes and invariably change their mind once they’re here. This is fine, I did exactly that, initially I wanted a house in town and ended up buying one in the countryside.

You get some people that have such exacting demands that finding them their ideal property can at times be like swimming in honey. But for me, the best part of showing people houses is some of the bizarre questions you get asked. My favourite three thus far are:

1. How loud are the church bells?

2. If I buy a house and invite my family to stay for a holiday, will they like it here?

3. Do you know if the house is haunted?

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The way in which houses sell is changing all the time. Gone are the days of just adverts in estate agent windows, now there’s social media to contend with, having a web presence and regular newsletters to send electronically. I even have an Instagram account which has generated the occasional enquiry from a potential buyer, just from a daily posting of a photograph.

Also the way we communicate has changed, when I purchased my first UK home, it was all done via the Royal Mail, with letters to and from solicitors. When I bought my Italian house it was done via 4 emails and I came here to sign for it. And recently I sold a property solely by communicating with the seller and buyer via Whatsapp – how times change. But I guess if you don’t keep up I guess you get left behind.

Signs Italy

As you know I’ve neglected my blog due to my heavy workload, but I have been collecting odd signs to show you, and this post is some of the ones I’ve spotted here in Italy.

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The first one made me chuckle as it advertises a special service from Luca. I’m not sure what that service could be.

 

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This one translates as, house of cheese. Maybe not as appealing as the gingerbread house, so I can’t see Hansel and Gretel dropping by soon.

 

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This one is so clever. Here the shop owners have substituted the Italian word for shoe, scarpe into the well-known Latin aphorism carpe diem, that’s usually translated as, seize the day.

 

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This one found in the town of Orsogna is just odd. I’m assuming it’s meant to tell passers by that the hair salon caters for all members of the family.

 

 

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My final one is my favourite. It’s stuck up on the wall of a bar in the town of Palombaro, and clearly states that Ping Pong is €2 an hour. Ask yourselves, is Ping Pong a diminutive lady who’s travelled to Italy from Thailand, and if so, what do you get for your two euro that lasts an hour?