I was having lunch with a couple of French friends when the subject of grocery shopping came up. One might expect that walking into a store, looking for food & paying for it would basically be the same from one place to another.
Basically, that’s true. Basically.
What surprised them was when I mentioned the fact that on occasion, an American shopper might be hit on in the grocery store. Of course, we all know that the frozen food aisle isn’t exactly ladies’ night with half off Tequila shooters, but it does happen. There’s even a movie about it, though I won’t be surprised if you haven’t seen it.
I told my friends about an incident that took place about 10 years ago. I was in the soup aisle of King Soopers trying to make a serious decision between Progresso & Wolfgang Puck. Unshowered, in dirty sweatpants & T-shirt, all I cared about at that moment was the can of soup that would be my dinner.
That’s when he found me; the squat little man in shiny shoes & a tucked-in pastel colored shirt. The basket he carried around was completely empty. I felt eyes on me, so I looked up.
“Hello,” he said, “might I say that the lady is looking lovely this afternoon.”
“Dude,” I said, looking down at my over-sized sweatpants. “Seriously.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said.
“It’s all right,” I said, “but I’m shopping for two, here.”
That was a lie. Looking down at the boxes of Hot Pockets & various TV dinners in my cart, it was painfully obvious that I was shopping for one. But, this guy, with his shiny shoes & empty basket, he was out to meet women. Ok, there’s nothing really wrong with that & I’m sure it works for some people. No big deal. I can’t blame a guy for trying. I paid for my cart full of shit food for the single woman & I left.
This story surprised my French friends. “Oh, no,” they said. “People here are at the grocery store only to shop, nothing else.”
In a way… that’s true. However, on a routine outing at Carrefour a couple of weeks later, I noticed something.
Olivier & I don’t go to Carrefour very often. Imagine it as a French version of Wal-Mart, with everything from video games to escargot. But, since this is France, just outside of Paris, there’s about 3 times the amount of human bodies one would usually find in Wal-Mart. It’s really just a big mosh pit with a dairy section.
As we pushed & shoved our way through each aisle, I began to notice that the majority of the people were ridiculously over-dressed for a Saturday afternoon of grocery shopping.
Knee-high boots. Skin tight pants. Sky-high stiletto heels. Doorknocker earrings. It all looked so… uncomfortable.
Sure, there were plenty of people who were more casual, or who were pushing carts, tossing things into them & chasing their toddlers just as you’d expect in a grocery store.
But, the over-dressed crowd sauntered about slowly, chatting with one another, not appearing to pay much attention to actually buying things. No, this wasn’t a shopping trip, it was an outing – a fashion show.
“Why are all these people so dressed up?” I asked Olivier.
“This is probably their big day out for the week,” he said, “Going out to Carrefour is an event for some people, you know.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It sure seems like it.” I looked down at my comfy sneakers, jeans & fleece pullover. “Um… do I totally look an American right now, or what?”
Without looking at me, Olivier said, “Yeah, pretty much”.
So… there it is. You are free to dress like a slob in the American supermarkets, as long as you accept that when shopping alone, you might be approached by a lonely stranger. In French supermarkets, no one will bother you because it’s not about interaction, it’s all about being seen without having to actually speak to anyone.
I don’t care where I am – I just want to dress like a slob & be left alone to buy my fucking chicken wings in peace.
Sometimes, I laugh at the lengths some men go to in order to meet women. But then I remember that I’m still single and my penis hates me just a little more each day because I refuse to hit on women in grocery stores and bingo nights.