A Suburban American Take on Semena Santa

Three years ago, Greg and I traded overcast and chilly Munich for sunny Seville, Spain. We wanted to see the Semena Santa (Holy Week) processions and celebrate Easter in good Hemingway fashion with a bullfight. (And get out of overcast and chilly Munich.)

The processions stunned me. Pilgrims walked through the stone streets to the cathedral as they had for centuries. The particularly devout trod barefoot. Everyone wore hooded capes and carried candles that stood taller than me. Knowing that tourism was a motivating factor for continuing the tradition did not stop me from feeling a bit voyeuristic as I watched from the sidewalk.

Well, today I took part in my own Good Friday act of self-flagellation. I went to Wegmans. It’s a huge grocery store 20 minutes away. I’d heard it was wonderland. I’d heard the prices were great. I’d heard it was so huge that it never felt crowded. Umm, that last part? That was wrong.

It was vast, but it was packed. The multi-acre parking lot was full at 10:00 a.m. We ventured inside to find masses of people pushing carts into each other. (Apparently, Wegmans changed their grocery cart dimensions recently, and folks misjudged the necessary turning clearance.) I needed a GPS in that place and had to repeatedly ask for directions.

Bruised and battered, we made our way to the butcher counter. The lady in front of me asked for the two pieces of lamb I’d been eyeing. Figures. When it was my turn, I distractedly ordered, then pried a jar of mint jelly out of Baby C’s grasp. The woman who had been in front of me came back and said, “Where’s my second piece?” The butcher, who had just passed over my package, said, “You wanted both pieces? I just gave it to her.” The lady looked at me. Of course, I offered the lamb back to her, but she very nicely let me keep it. I groveled in thanks and continued to try to check off my shopping list.

Over an hour later, we staggered to the check out counter with a few key ingredients still missing. Baby C had mutinied and I couldn’t take it any longer. If Wegmans had fresh rosemary, it was beyond my abilities to find it. As we rolled out to the parking lot, a car immediately started following me. Fine. They would have to wait through a backseat diaper change and an improvised snack for the wailing Baby C.

A good ten minutes later, I backed out, smiling icily at the car who had stalked us. It had been a nightmarish shopping experience, and I was grumpy. As we drove away, I remembered the kindness and patience demonstrated by the lady in front of me at the butcher counter, and started to feel a little guilty at my parking lot snottiness. All of a sudden it dawned on me that, thanks to her, I would be serving sacrificed lamb for Easter. I can only hope that, wherever she is, she got the last of the rosemary.

1 comment:

  1. I can just picture the whole situation! I've certainly been there.

    I've never been to Wegman's, although everyone says it's great. Just a bit out of our way.

    As for shopping with kids...I can tell you, if we're missing something and we already passed that aisle, I'm not going back for it. One of the joys of shopping with kids!

    P.S. But I still don't miss being a lawyer either! Never think about it at all. :)


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