A while ago, I was randomly flipping through the channels on my television when I came across this movie called Ground Hog Day. It is a pretty popular movie about this guy who wakes up every morning to live the same day, Ground Hog Day, over and over again.
I was thinking about this movie the other day when I entered Zona Sul to have my morning breakfast. Everyday that I come into the store, all of the workers are in the same places doing the same thing.
It is really strange, but I guess I am just as much a part of the “Ground Hog Day” scene because I come into the store like clockwork every morning. I go to the bakery and select two French rolls. After I weigh them, I make my way through the shoppers to the breakfast bar and select four, deli slices of turkey meat. Then, I proceed to the scale to receive my charge so that I can sit down at a table to watch television and eat my breakfast.
A day or two ago, my Ground Hog Day scenario was unfolding as usual. I had just selected two decently sized French rolls. As I turned to go weigh my bread, the Coke stockperson, in his usual location, dropped a can of Sprite Zero. The can hit the floor, burst open and sprayed me entirely. I think the remainder of the soda landed on a lady behind me. The stocker ran over and told me desculpe (sorry) several times. I calmly asked for some napkins and I wiped myself off.
What’s a visit to Zona Sul without a little twist in the story every now and then?
The next morning I entered the store to participate in Ground Hog Day. I selected my rolls and managed to get to the breakfast bar without incident. As I am standing in line, two ladies in front of the line begin to engage in a heated argument. A gentleman at a nearby table yelled his two-cent to one of the ladies as well. One of the ladies yelled a scathing dialogue at the entire store and left. Everyone was motionless for a few seconds, and then we all proceeded to continue our normal morning routine. I made it to the front of the line, had my rolls and turkey weighed and then sat at my usual table.
What’s a visit to Zona Sul without a little community debate every now and then?
On the same evening that I witnessed the argument, I entered Zona Sul after my training. Apparently, I entered into the middle of what seemed to be one woman’s cry for help. I do not know what this lady needed, if it was medication, a hug, groceries or what, but she was standing in front of me at the cash register pleading her case to the checkout clerk. (I have a soft spot for the elderly, especially little elderly ladies. They are so fragile and many times people are zooming past them like they just don’t see them.)
The elderly lady was distraught. Everyone was looking and no one seemed to know what to do. I couldn’t even make out what she was saying. Eventually, she disappeared. I saw the checkout line that she was in and I decided that I would just go to another line. I don’t know but something just directed me elsewhere. About two minutes later, the lady was back in the line crying. All the cashier could do was pat the lady on the shoulder. The lady reached out to touch people in her line and point to others in the adjacent checkout line. My intuition definitely saved me because I would’ve been one of those people. When I left the store, the situation had not been resolved.
What’s a visit to Zona Sul without a public cry for help every now and then?
Just when I began to think that I was living my own Ground Hog Day—Zona Sul showed me that all things are subject to change…
I was thinking about this movie the other day when I entered Zona Sul to have my morning breakfast. Everyday that I come into the store, all of the workers are in the same places doing the same thing.
It is really strange, but I guess I am just as much a part of the “Ground Hog Day” scene because I come into the store like clockwork every morning. I go to the bakery and select two French rolls. After I weigh them, I make my way through the shoppers to the breakfast bar and select four, deli slices of turkey meat. Then, I proceed to the scale to receive my charge so that I can sit down at a table to watch television and eat my breakfast.
A day or two ago, my Ground Hog Day scenario was unfolding as usual. I had just selected two decently sized French rolls. As I turned to go weigh my bread, the Coke stockperson, in his usual location, dropped a can of Sprite Zero. The can hit the floor, burst open and sprayed me entirely. I think the remainder of the soda landed on a lady behind me. The stocker ran over and told me desculpe (sorry) several times. I calmly asked for some napkins and I wiped myself off.
What’s a visit to Zona Sul without a little twist in the story every now and then?
The next morning I entered the store to participate in Ground Hog Day. I selected my rolls and managed to get to the breakfast bar without incident. As I am standing in line, two ladies in front of the line begin to engage in a heated argument. A gentleman at a nearby table yelled his two-cent to one of the ladies as well. One of the ladies yelled a scathing dialogue at the entire store and left. Everyone was motionless for a few seconds, and then we all proceeded to continue our normal morning routine. I made it to the front of the line, had my rolls and turkey weighed and then sat at my usual table.
What’s a visit to Zona Sul without a little community debate every now and then?
On the same evening that I witnessed the argument, I entered Zona Sul after my training. Apparently, I entered into the middle of what seemed to be one woman’s cry for help. I do not know what this lady needed, if it was medication, a hug, groceries or what, but she was standing in front of me at the cash register pleading her case to the checkout clerk. (I have a soft spot for the elderly, especially little elderly ladies. They are so fragile and many times people are zooming past them like they just don’t see them.)
The elderly lady was distraught. Everyone was looking and no one seemed to know what to do. I couldn’t even make out what she was saying. Eventually, she disappeared. I saw the checkout line that she was in and I decided that I would just go to another line. I don’t know but something just directed me elsewhere. About two minutes later, the lady was back in the line crying. All the cashier could do was pat the lady on the shoulder. The lady reached out to touch people in her line and point to others in the adjacent checkout line. My intuition definitely saved me because I would’ve been one of those people. When I left the store, the situation had not been resolved.
What’s a visit to Zona Sul without a public cry for help every now and then?
Just when I began to think that I was living my own Ground Hog Day—Zona Sul showed me that all things are subject to change…
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