This morning I had an early morning appointment in Troyes, so I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone and do the weekend grocery shopping before coming home. Now, you'd think after three years I'd understand the French's shopping patterns better, but no, I waltzed right into the grande surface shopping center without a care in the world and it wasn't until I'd rolled my shopping cart through the electric gate that I realized my fatal mistake: everyone in France goes grocery shopping on Friday mornings.
It was so bad that at some intersections is was like sitting at a four way stop sign, only with the less-than-impressive queuing habits of the French. Twice I exchanged a laugh and a snarky comment with another shopper as we narrowly inched past each other in the overcrowded isles. At least I hit the cash registers at a lull; when I had waltzed through the electric gate, I had a hard time telling those standing in line from those still shopping. Of course, the cash registers are a whole other story, as they total no less than thirty and maybe half of which were actually manned by the time I got there. I hope the cashiers came back from their breaks shortly after, knowing the tidal wave of customers that would imminently hit.
Wow, I have certainly turned up the snark here lately. I must be hanging out with them too much. (I'm also super sleepy from having to get up early so please excuse my cringe-worthy grammar - I can't seem to form proper sentences today.)
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