Stepping into my first True American Supermarket on my first visit to the U.S.
I was 12. It was my first time out of Japan.
And oh. My. God.
I thought I was going to faint.
I don’t even remember which chain it was— most likely a Walmart— but it was like stepping into a different world. It was so huge I was pretty sure my hometown could’ve fit into it. Not even joking— my hometown is tiny. And that place blew my mind.
The ceilings were so tall. The aisles were so vast. It smelled weird, like all of California. The shopping carts were inexplicably massive; my two sisters and I could all fit in, and yes, we tried.
The people were so very large. Many of them were in little carts, almost like scooters, that they drove themselves around in. In a supermarket.
There were what seemed like thousands of cashiers lined up by the exit, with weird conveyor belts— plus people whose actual job seemed to just be bagging your stuff? With even more staff lingering around entire aisles devoted to exactly one type of thing like, for example, cereal?? JUST CEREAL? Or, like, sugar. Licorice, oh my god, the licorice.
And I’m not sure why, but one of the things that knocked me outta my socks the most was the produce section.
All of that produce, just stacked on top of each other, willy nilly?!?! Bared to every shopper’s touch, every fruit fly? Friendly towards the environment?!?! I mean, please. I nearly had a heart attack.
For reference, this is the produce section that I grew up with up until that point:
See? All packaged neatly! Not a stray orange in sight!!! No one passing by and unsubtly plucking a grape off to eat as they shopped— if they did, they’d have to be really sneaky about it, because digging your fingers under a bunch of protective plastic is no easy feat, man.
Anyway. Just a really, really strange experience. Everything was too freakin’ big in the States. Freaked me out.
Give me claustrophobic Tokyo any day.
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