In A Russian Supermarket

To find more stuff for my new series “Tasting Strange Food” I’ve visited a Russian supermarket this Saturday in Trier. The little flat building close to the university was full of people. Most of them seemed to be Russians – so, they talked Russian all the time I was inside.

It was my second time in that supermarket. I knew before about the huge shelves filled by millions of bonbons – all packed in fantastic never seen papers. One of the labels is called “Rot Front”, an old candy-factory which had produced even in the Soviet Union. Please correct me if I’m wrong. And on the way while listening the song “Meine kleine Russin” by Reverend Beat-Man (My little Russian lady) in my car, I looked forward to the typical Russian tasty white ice cream you can buy there for just 29 Cent.

Although it was so absolutely overcrowded inside, I slipped away into my own world by smelling fresh bread they had. By the vain tries reading the boxes of strange things. I wondered how much meat you can pack behind this tiny showcase where a couple – both like balls – were waiting for the butcher sticking his enormous knife into a deep red whatever.

After picking up all my stuff I came to the two cash desks they have. And there I found that little Russian lady, the Reverend had sung about. To her it’s certainly just a job, but to me it told from her calmness deep inside while too many Russians screwed around her screaming, whistling and scolding about everything. It was like art.

Whatever happened, meine kleine Russin kept calm. She let the things switch over her scanner-table like little ships on the Caspian sea. A few words spoken in her low tender voice were enough to let the hectic customers become calm as well. And after a glass had smashed down to the bottom, out of the hand of an man simultaneously holding a little baby, and something like orange colored stewed vegetables suddenly covered the ground, she just looked, made a hand gesture that meant It’s ok, and continued helping the little ships by crossing the Caspian sea. 

I came two times to her cash desk to watch her show. The second time just with another ice cream for 29 Cent as pretence. When she saw me again, a little smile ran over her face and she bend her head. She had already understood.

NEW: Now I know more about the "Russian" Lady. She is Kirgisian and her name is Chopa.