stewing like tomatoes

Ok, so apparantly my $7 did not go very far and it was time to go the store again this afternoon. There's a nice little local store by my house that has cans of Del Monte Stewed Tomatoes in its small but well-stocked import aisle. So...since my lasagne recipe calls for Stewed Tomatoes, I thought I'd buy a few cans today. What you must know is that the last three times josh and I have been to this store, we have had issues checking out with the tomatoes. Something about not able to ring it up...or at least that's our rough translation of it.

But today, the weather was nice. I had a really productive morning, had a nice lunch with emma and josh. Subliminally in my mind, I thought, "surely today will be different."

I approach the checkout line with my basket full of items...plastic hangers, milk, mushrooms, a few other items, and, of course, the stewed tomatoes. The lady swipes the bar code through the scanner, and it just bleeped at her, so she put my stewed tomatoes back on the conveyer belt at the end of my items (like, what? in five minutes it will magically work?) She rings up all my items and tells me my total.

But wait, I said. You didn't include these, pointing to my three cans of tomatoes. "Oh," she says casually. "You can't buy those."

"I can't buy those?! What do you mean, I can't buy those? They are sitting on the shelf!" (remember, this is a rough translation)

"You can't buy them. They won't ring up, so you can't buy them." (I dont' actually know how to say "ring up", I'm just assuming that's what she said.)

"Why can't I buy them?" I insist. "Yeah, why can't she buy them?" chimes in the sacker. "Yeah, why not?" comments a third interested party.

"Why so many whys? I don't know why, it just won't work!"

So then a helpful little man who works at the store offered to run back up to the second floor where the imported items are to check the bar code number thingy. All the customers waiting behind me send me the evil eye, and the cashier gives an embarrassed shrug. Five minutes later, he returns and proudly proclaims (in english) "Try!" Too bad for him, it didn't work again. A collective sigh goes up from the customers behind me.

"Fine! Forget it," I say...but only after going into a tirade about how these are IMPORTED items, meaning that only foreigners will buy them. Locals will not buy them so they will be sitting on the shelf forever and ever. If they are not willing to sell me my stewed tomatoes, then get them off the stinkin shelf! (I was impressed not only with my ability to think on my feet, but also to use the language so adeptly at such an opportune time.)

I gave her my $9 and before I could stop the words from coming out of my mouth, I blurted, "Where is the manager? And give me that can!" pointing to my stewed tomatoes that had been quickly shoved behind the counter.

I marched over to the customer service desk, and my normally non-confrontational, passive self somehow got left in aisle 3 or something. I told him - quite diplomatically but yet quite fervently - my issue. I repeated my now gramatically correct tirade I had given the previous cashier (I had time to make mental corrections while the guy went to go find the bar code thingy that didn't work). And I told him that all these people (sweeping motion with my hand to the masses of people waiting in line behind me) were waiting on me a long time, and they were very angry at me, but it wasn't my fault - it was the DaRenFa's fault (the name of the supermarket) because they weren't willing to sell me my stewed tomatoes!

Well, the long and short of it is that after 20 minutes and five salespeople later, I finally left the store with two cans of stewed tomatoes and a receipt that supposedly had the barcode on it so that next time I woudln't have this problem.

Tonight, the stewed tomatoes were of special significance because I was going to use them to make minestrone soup. And, woudln't you know, after all that hassle, the soup wasn't even very good. Oh, such is life, I suppose!