I tug my bag of empty returnable bottles of mineral water around the corner, as I veer already bad - our tribe supermarket is adorned with long, colorful balloon garlands. After complete conversion of the shop is now officially re-opened - just that day i had to choose, to our hard-accumulated over generations back returnable bottles to feed their natural cycle. And in fact - within the store is no stone, no shelf left standing. An important and very pleased with himself looking Store manager with a clipboard is wandering aimlessly between regular customers back and forth to look as if they would burst into tears. Where shelves were arranged before horizontal, vertical and now they run the returnable bottles machine is now in an entirely different corner. It all looks very chic, but unfortunately there is nothing more again.
right at the entrance to the fruit department, a 10 cent large piece of Kiwi offered for tasting ... in the former East Berlin, about twenty years after the reunification ... Well if the people do not drive up in droves to the front door, then I do not know. A lady down on a small table with pots of paint and smiles encouragingly in the round. Face painting.
I've finally durchgehangelt to frozen foods, as echoes suddenly a loud, grating voice of the store "Eieieieieiei! What is this? That's green! Hahahaha!" I am putting up deaf, a strategy that has made itself at all the insane in Berlin often paid - as, for example, recently the man with a stereo system from old yogurt containers Eberswalder street-crossing for half an hour with a surprisingly loud "Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare sonicated. Sometime I watch it. It is for once no one to balance a cat on his head and waits for a are collected UFO - it is a yellow-checkered clown. He talks to distraught clients who could not escape in time makes surprisingly listless jokes about tropical fruits and is just loud and unpleasant. Seriously - I've never met anyone who likes clowns. Not even kids they like, usually they run scared away so fast as her short legs stubble they wear.
the rest of my shopping I spend now in order, first lying on the shelf around carefully so I do not run the yellow "joker" in the arms. As I study the cereal packs, I always throw a searching look over my shoulder so I do not suddenly from behind a Water from a spray flowers take charge. I grab a particularly large Spar pack cereal and move it slowly along beside me, to collect crouched behind camouflaged in peace the rest of my purchases.
to strike with an unsheathed baguette before I work my courage finally to the checkout.
Even when unloading the shopping from the cart onto the belt, I am always looking around nervously. Indeed. There he is. Directly at the output. Or input. Depending on which side ... oh, never mind. In brief, I wonder if that has to be achieved by the market underground parking deck a second output. I swallow. The red-nosed stands in the door between me and freedom. When Go out, he will certainly push me one of those printed with the logo Pappsonnenvisiere supermarket with a rubber band in your hand and say something like "Well? Breakfast today no clown? Hahahaha!" But not with me. I think my French pastry with both hands as a battering ram in front of me. I check one last time my ammunition - Not for me I shoot open the way to Biotomaten. I set off running. Just before my white bread can be tough and relentless conflict with the crotch of his baggy trousers, he turns abruptly and turns to another victim - a young girl who flees screaming on the arm of his mother.
I'm free! A muffled sound of relief in wrests my throat. I keep on running. Up to our apartment to the fifth floor. There, I lock the door behind me. Safety first.
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