How I got here -- Part 4

Nothing much of interest happened for the rest of the summer. Ra'anana was a normal place with normal people.

I loved Ra'anana immediately because it had shopping malls, movie theatres, a main street with real stores, a pool, and all the other obvious signs of civilization. Yes, it proably had crime too but I wasn't looking for trouble so trouble wasn't looking for me.

There is really only one incident that sticks out in my mind about the rest of the summer. One night, I decided to go to the grocery store alone -- because I could. It was very emancipating. I was in Israel. I was driving the car. And I was going somewhere to do something that had to be done.

I arrived at the grocery store and it was the most remarkable grocery store I had ever seen. It was big; it was clean; and everything, as far as the eye could see, was kosher. The one thing it wasn't, was organized.

Israelis have a different concept of organization compared to the average Canadian. For example, Canadians line up -- in the line. They wait their turn. At least, long-time Canadians do that. The Russian immigrants to Canada do not. I am sure they all brought many good qualities to their new country -- but waiting their turn was not one of them. I think it is hard to wait for your turn when a) you are in very tight pants and high heeled boots, b) someone is outside pointing a gun at your head through the window of the grocery store.... or c) you are also carrying a very large suitcase of cash.

Okay, back to the point. The grocery store in Ra'anana. I got in line, waited my turn and started to put all my groceries on the conveyor belt. The cashier started to ring up my purchases ... and then literally tossed them aside. Where was the Charge and Bag one-step that I was used to?

Who the hell knows. It surely didn't exist in Ra'anana at that time.

All of a sudden I realize that my already-paid-for groceries were piling up o'er yonder and I was still placing items from my cart on the conveyor belt. So, as soon as I finished dumping everything on the conveyor belt I ran to start bagging the other stuff. Except..... I couldn't get the damn cheapo plastic bags to open.

So my groceries were piling up and up and up, and I was still trying to open the fist bag. Needless to say, I panicked. I panic easily so that isn't saying much. And then, I made the biggest mistake of all. (A mistake I will NEVER make again.) I PAID THE CASHIER.

Why was this such a problem? Because, once I had paid her she felt totally okay to start processing the next person's order. And then their groceries were piling up on top of mine in the Post-Payment Tossing Area.

That's when I cracked. Just lost it. Right there on the spot. I did the same thing I did when I was delivering my second child. I yelled the F-word as loud as I could. It was remarkably cathartic, although it didn't get the groceries into the bag.

It did, however, get the cashier to stop in her tracks for a second. Whether or not you speak English, the F-word seems to have immediate international recognition. And once I had the cashier's attention and I realized that this was the only way to hold that attention, I just let an entire string of four-letter words go. It felt good. Sue me.

A few good things came out of the tirade, but the most important was that the cashier was so shocked that she stopped what she was doing for just enough time and I was able to get my groceries into bags, back into the cart and out the store door.

That was my first real introduction to life in Israel.