And Woody Allen looked back at me

Photo by Hudin

On the streets heading hillward from the Santa Caterina market, there are several other small fruit and vegetable shops. They exist mainly for those who happen to be at Santa Caterina but don’t want to pay Santa Caterina prices for things like say, strawberries.

There is one in particular on Sant Pere més Baix that I often find myself going to. Run by an efficient Chinese family (who a number of which speak more Catalan than the vast majority of Castilian speaking Spaniards in Catalonia) I find the shop to be decent. My fellow shoppers, not as much. Generally comprised of fat, waddling Moroccan women (I’m still mystified as to why they all waddle) and post-peasant locals, it can try one’s patience given that the shop is quite narrow and everyone there is looking for the right moment to cut in front of you. Tossed in to this are the single old men who, now confronted with shopping for the first time in their lives, look like they’re trying to diffuse a nuclear bomb when it comes to figuring out how to pay and put all the smaller bags in to one larger bag.

So, given that I spend about 80% of my time in this shop waiting in the line, it’s amazing that I hadn’t noticed something before. There, just behind the cash register is a photo of Woody Allen and his wife née daughter. He’s just there, staring out at you will his signature disdain for humanity painted in large strokes across his face. I don’t know for certain what’s going through his mind, but if he had the photo taken while in this shop it would be something along the lines of, “Moroccan woman, stop bruising my legs with your ass and old man, it’s two Euros for the tomatoes, two fucking Euros. Pay already. Stop accusing the girl at the counter of being a thief.”