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The Taste of Shopping At Rehovot's Center Supersol Supermarket
By Erin Israel
"Since the recent increase in rhetoric between the good guys and the bad guys, I decided to stop shopping in the giant market in "American City" (MyRehovot, 18 Oct 2005), the Hebrew name for the mall about a forty-minute walk away on Derech Yavne. It just seems too...obvious.
So I trudged back to the supermarket on Herzl where customer service is a fantasy, long lines are standard, and, happily--at the moment--the walls are plastered with "MADE IN THE U.S.A.!" posters sporting beaming, diverse Americans wrapped in the flag. Ever since we returned, this chain has been running a red, white, and blue campaign touting all sorts of specials on "American" items such as: Oreos...(and the generic Israeli equivalent, Neros), "Gourmet Chef" tv dinners, and candy bars.
Whenever I resort to using English in the store to ask for something, I get a sour look. So I was delighted to see the wholehearted embrace of American culture, and I practically danced around the store. Sadly, the embrace is limited to a discount on goods, and does not constitute perestroika on behalf of the deli employees.
After bagging my stuff in the checkout lane, the cashier handed me a receipt and a form. "Ma ze?" "What's this?" I asked (although I really wanted to say, You overcharged me by twelve shekels for almonds because I can't speak enough Hebrew to put up a fight about it.)
"Ze tacharut," the cashier replied, and waved at me to go away.
At the manager's desk, someone was paging God. "Ala, bevakasha, le coupa," droned the manager into the microphone. "Ala, please, to the front."
"I think he's busy," I said.
The manager turned her gaze on me.
"Be anglit?" I asked. She shrugged. "A little," she replied.
I handed her the form. "What is this for, please?"
"This is a contest," the manager explained. "You can win a trip." She reached over the counter and pointed to a red, white, and blue striped box--the upright kind you drop sweepstakes forms into--sitting just below the manager's lookout.
"Oh!" I said. "Be autsod habrit?" To the U.S.?
"Ken," Yes, the manager replied wearily, sensing where this was heading.
"Why, I would LOVE to go to the U.S.!" I cried. "After all, I'm American!" I think she rolled her eyes, here. "Where do I sign?"
I jotted down my name and telephone number, much to the manager's chagrin, but there were other categories, which I couldn't read. The manager beckoned over another shopper, a woman with bobbed hair who looked familiar. She nodded as the manager explained my delirium.
"Yes," she turned to me and said in a lilting British accent. "This is for a contest, to anywhere abroad. They just need your address and other information--" She broke off, here, and indignantly adjusted her glasses, which hung on a thin beaded cord, and spoke to the manager.
"Rak le America?" the British woman said, outraged. "But it's only to America!" she told me. "Why would I want to go to America?!" She gathered up her bags and huffed out of the store. Dear me. Hadn't she heard about the royal visit?
The manager crossed her arms and stood on her podium, above me, waiting.
I finished the form, folded it, and stuffed it in the box with a grin. "Of course," I confided to her, "they're not going to let me win, ANYWAY, so don't worry."
Next time I went in, I was handed another form. In keeping with its subject, this sweepstakes operated on a fundamental red, white, and blue value: vote early and vote often"
Source: Erin Israel. "Ma-TIE taf-LEEG ha-o-nee-YAH ha-ba-AH?" "When does the next boat leave?" (13 November 2005) [FullText]
"Since the recent increase in rhetoric between the good guys and the bad guys, I decided to stop shopping in the giant market in "American City" (MyRehovot, 18 Oct 2005), the Hebrew name for the mall about a forty-minute walk away on Derech Yavne. It just seems too...obvious.
So I trudged back to the supermarket on Herzl where customer service is a fantasy, long lines are standard, and, happily--at the moment--the walls are plastered with "MADE IN THE U.S.A.!" posters sporting beaming, diverse Americans wrapped in the flag. Ever since we returned, this chain has been running a red, white, and blue campaign touting all sorts of specials on "American" items such as: Oreos...(and the generic Israeli equivalent, Neros), "Gourmet Chef" tv dinners, and candy bars.
Whenever I resort to using English in the store to ask for something, I get a sour look. So I was delighted to see the wholehearted embrace of American culture, and I practically danced around the store. Sadly, the embrace is limited to a discount on goods, and does not constitute perestroika on behalf of the deli employees.
After bagging my stuff in the checkout lane, the cashier handed me a receipt and a form. "Ma ze?" "What's this?" I asked (although I really wanted to say, You overcharged me by twelve shekels for almonds because I can't speak enough Hebrew to put up a fight about it.)
"Ze tacharut," the cashier replied, and waved at me to go away.
At the manager's desk, someone was paging God. "Ala, bevakasha, le coupa," droned the manager into the microphone. "Ala, please, to the front."
"I think he's busy," I said.
The manager turned her gaze on me.
"Be anglit?" I asked. She shrugged. "A little," she replied.
I handed her the form. "What is this for, please?"
"This is a contest," the manager explained. "You can win a trip." She reached over the counter and pointed to a red, white, and blue striped box--the upright kind you drop sweepstakes forms into--sitting just below the manager's lookout.
"Oh!" I said. "Be autsod habrit?" To the U.S.?
"Ken," Yes, the manager replied wearily, sensing where this was heading.
"Why, I would LOVE to go to the U.S.!" I cried. "After all, I'm American!" I think she rolled her eyes, here. "Where do I sign?"
I jotted down my name and telephone number, much to the manager's chagrin, but there were other categories, which I couldn't read. The manager beckoned over another shopper, a woman with bobbed hair who looked familiar. She nodded as the manager explained my delirium.
"Yes," she turned to me and said in a lilting British accent. "This is for a contest, to anywhere abroad. They just need your address and other information--" She broke off, here, and indignantly adjusted her glasses, which hung on a thin beaded cord, and spoke to the manager.
"Rak le America?" the British woman said, outraged. "But it's only to America!" she told me. "Why would I want to go to America?!" She gathered up her bags and huffed out of the store. Dear me. Hadn't she heard about the royal visit?
The manager crossed her arms and stood on her podium, above me, waiting.
I finished the form, folded it, and stuffed it in the box with a grin. "Of course," I confided to her, "they're not going to let me win, ANYWAY, so don't worry."
Next time I went in, I was handed another form. In keeping with its subject, this sweepstakes operated on a fundamental red, white, and blue value: vote early and vote often"
Source: Erin Israel. "Ma-TIE taf-LEEG ha-o-nee-YAH ha-ba-AH?" "When does the next boat leave?" (13 November 2005) [FullText]
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