Soccer, shopkeeps, and the sisterhood of men.

Please note: This post was written on the day Australia conquered the world (i.e. tied with Croatia in the world cup).

Tim Cahill, man of the people, hero of all matches.

With seven Socceroos with Croatian heritage and a good few Croats calling Australia home, divided Aussie loyalties when it comes to soccer has been a hot topic of conversation for me, and various other assorted news media and stations, over the last few days. Now I am Australian, and my primary European heritage is Dutch – so with Gus at our helm, and Aussie boys on the oars, I have no desire whatsoever to jump ship and support a more of an overdog Euro team. Not all Aussie ethnic identities meld so perfectly with the Socceroos, however, and the Croat-Australian conflict was only the start. Come Tuesday, those who feel both Italian and Australian make the difficult decision about who to support – and thus begins my narrative:

THE ITALIAN FRUITIER: I rely on the large Italian fruit store that I occasionally frequent for several things. Among their number are pseudo-reasonably priced veggies, firm mushrooms, a fruit-stacking hunchback who scares me, and a friendly wink from the less Quasimodo of the staff. Not so this morning, however, as I entered the shop to high running tensions. Australia had just effectively ruled Croatia out of the cup, and secured a place to play Italy. An older fruitier and his younger counterpart, usually so friendly, were to deep in conversation to acknowledge me as I selected myself a fine head of broccoli.

Young Fruitier: “You know, my head is fully Australian… but my heart, my heart is in Italy.”

Old Fruitier: “Well yes, of course. But I want Australian soccer to progress, I would like to see them do well.”

Young Fruitier: “Well of course you say that, I might say that, but come Tuesday I know that I will be supporting Italy, wanting Italy to win.”

Old Fruitier: “But the boys did so well today, and I would like to see them continue.”

Young Fruitier: “But we are Italian, you know. Surely you want our team to go forwand!!??”

Fiffles picks apples and rosemary and beans out with care. Smiling to self, she is completely ignored by increasingly fiery fruitiers.

Old Fruitier: “Now listen, of course, I was born in Italy, you were not. I know what it is to be Italian.”

 

Young fruitier acknowledges this point with a head bob, and a wave of the palm forward hands.

An artist's rendering of an Italian fruitier, 1580

(likeness to present day Italian fruitiers = medium)

THE IGA WORKER: On the topic of people working in stores… I am brought to the nice connection that exists between people – you know, when kindly strangers hope the best for you and you for them etc.

The other day I was in IGA, purchasing a package of crumpets at the request of assorted people. I couldn’t see these bready treats, so I asked the man stacking the bread shelves where they were. As he was looking I located a small pack of the traditional rounds, so I thanked him, told him I had found some, and started off.

As I was cruising the next isle, I heard the steady pat pat of quick approaching footsteps at my heel. I turned around to see the shelf stacker looming up on me, waving a cellophaned bakery good.

Shelf Stacker: “I have some square ones here, on sale, you might prefer them.”

“Square whats?” I wondered, “Crumpets?”

Fiffles: “Oh no, these are fine thanks.” I smiled at him in appreciation of his giving chase.

Shelf Stacker: “But these are only 85 cents!”

He was speaking somewhat frantically, waving those cubed twist on an old crumpet in my face. Now 89 cents is not to be sneered at, given that the crumpets in my trolley were retailing for a good two dollars fifty or so.

Fiffles: “I’ll take them, thanks very much!”

We grinned at each other, his quest to save me a buck or two accomplished, and my faith in mankind restored. When I returned home, crumpets in hand, to the waiting breakfast throng, everyone was happy with the squares, and impressed with my steal.

To conclude, people are bizarre.

This popular breakfast food has been given a new lease on life! Squint until this picture is blurry to get an idea about what marketing executives are sadly not calling 'Cubepets'.

THE HEALTH FOOD STORE MAN: Back to the present. Having finished with the fruit, I then went to the health food store in search of pure Olive Leaf Extract. I approached the front counter to be greeted by a man who looked like Jesus, but was probably not.

Fiffles: “Do you have any olive leaf extract?”

Health Food Store Worker Resembling Jesus: “Oh do we?”

Now smiling to himself in an odd sort of a giggly way.

Health Food Store Worker Resembling Jesus: “Oh yes we do, and I can give it to you in any number of ways.”

Giggles continue.

Fiffles: “OK… thanks…”

 

 

I could have taken it any number of ways, but I eventually chose orally.

RANDOM NUMBERS: And now, for a final countdown:

3 – The number of different soy based products I brought today in a veggie fuelled, protein supplement mad frenzy.

2 – The number of pink, penis shaped, novelty ‘fluffy dice’ that I have seen hanging from a rear view mirror today.

1 – The number of times that I embarrassingly called Harry Kewell “more Australian than Bradman”, encouraging well deserved scorn and derision from my nearest and dearest.

Harry Kewell, a man who without a shadow of a doubt is less Australian than Bradman, and probably Vegemite.