Dreary shopping

This morning I went grocery shopping in a discount supermarket in Móra d’Ebre, Ribera d’Ebre district, a small town about 20km from here where they have real supermarkets. The experience was depressing, as always. It rained, not a common event around here, and the temperature was about 15°C (59°F). The main road leading to the supermarket is windy and open to traffic in two directions though due to a variable width not all spots of it allow for two cars using it at the same time. Parking spaces are limited and with heavy rain, a popular spot underneath a river bridge becomes dangerous as the water coming down from the centre of town might flood away the cars parked there. I arrived at about 10 a.m. At the supermarket’s fruit and vegetable area it was difficult to reach things as there were crates and boxes everywhere as they were still filling the shelves – one hour after opening. Nowadays one has to be very attentive and look carefully as a lot of the stuff they sell is already rotten or about to rot or behind its “best before” date; today all the broccoli they had was brown... Walking through the rest of the supermarket one could observe a lot of immigrants: one Brit in bathing shorts, extravagant to say the least, considering the weather. Maroccons going quietly about their shopping. Sub-Saharan Africans counting their change to see if they could afford a packet of bread and a glass of mayonnaise; and a homeless of local origin counting his change to buy a tetra-pak of red wine. Near the cash register I saw a price tag for a USB memory stick, a good bargain. Items like these, but also brand deodorants costing 1,99 EUR, they sell from locked shelves. I asked for one stick, they had to look for the key first, and then they discovered that they did not have any... I paid and went outside to carry my shopping to the car. On the way there, I passed the window of a cheap-goods store run by Chinese and I could smell its typical smell though the window was closed. I also saw a group of homeless-looking men sitting in a dry spot drinking canned beer and two gypsies, one inside and the other aside an open trash container where they looked for I don’t know what. If one tries to leave old clothes in a special container there, they are immediately beside one and ask one to hand them the old stuff. My car was still there and I could drive home. Though it might sound condescending or even racist, I always feel relieved that I do not live there and only have to go every other week for the grocery shopping.