Pesi! Pesi! and Other Mishaps

We left our story Sunday morning while I was still in my pajamas and unsure of what my 2nd full day may bring. To continue this tale, I’m actually going to backtrack about 12-16 hours so you can get the full scope of my series of unfortunate Americanisms.

I’ll set the scene. It’s Saturday evening. I have been wandering the city of Milan for hours on a wet and cloudy day. I felt accomplished and proud for exploring solo and getting a few things done. I had sufficiently worked up an appetite. I was ready to head to a supermarket/restaurant hub recommended to me by another expat who has been in Milan for a few months called Eataly (get it.. Italy.. Eataly). So I get there, I meander, I take in the wonder that is this 3 story grocery store. I decide at which of the 3? 4? Restaurants I wanted to dine, and I take a seat. I am a strong independent woman, and I don’t need Nobody to go out and have a nice meal. I sit down with my chest puffed out a little and feeling sassy. I ask for a menu from the gentleman behind the counter, and he asks another employee to grab an “english menu.” My puffed chest deflates a little, but no matter! I shall order and dine like a queen. I look over the menu, pick a dish that sounds delicious, and try to go to that same gentleman behind the counter to order. He quickly waves his hands and informed me that they do not open until 7pm- it was 6:50pm. Ok. “Can I get wine? Vino Rosso?” More head shaking and hand waving. Another man next to me at the counter translates- “he just cooks the food so he wouldn’t take your order anyway, but they can’t give you anything until they open at 7.” Ok. Meanwhile, over the next 10 minutes, folks continue to walk into the area of the restaurant and get immediately kicked out because they are not open. Not sure why they took pity on me, but they allowed me to sit at the counter until opening and then promptly took my order. American mishap #1.

Immediately following my (fantastic) meal, I found the gelateria counter in this same establishment. Because, gelato. There are about 8 or 9 chalkboards with flavors above the counter. One says “Senza Latte” at the top. Some are in italian. Some are in english. Do they sell coffee too? And do I see the word crepe? Where am I? I stand there with a deer in headlights look for about a minute or two before they essentially decide to just give me vanilla with chocolate candy coating on top. “Cone?” Quick… cone.. What does cone mean? Cone, cone, cone.... “Cup or cone?” Oh. “Cup.” I pay. I sit. I continue to internally evaluate these chalkboards. What do they MEAN??! And it suddenly becomes clear. All the boards on top are in Italian, the bottom are english translations of the above- exactly- and senza latte just means “without milk.” American mishap #2.

Sunday rolls around. I wake up late. I write a blog post. I decide to run out to get my metro pass and to get some groceries, conveniently enough both could be found at central station right around the corner. I walk over, again, feeling confident. I knew what I was doing, what I needed. I had even brought my own reusable grocery bags FROM AMERICA. I was ready. I find an area that says “Biglietti” (tickets) and think “Aha! That was easy.” I walk in and see self-serve kiosks and 2-3 long lines. As an American millennial, I obviously walk to the kiosks. Why talk to someone [in another language] when you can talk to a computer? Duh. Turns out the “English” version of the kiosk screen is not so easy, but as far as I could tell they did not have what I needed anyway. I know I need to get in line, but which one? I ask a kind man with a fantastic beard and a vest indicating that he was an employee “which line for monthly small area pass?” He stared blankly for a moment and continued to walk away as IF he were going to find someone that spoke english. He never walked back. So. I pick a line. I wait about 20 minutes, finally get my turn to go up to a counter, and ask the man “monthly pass for small area?” He laughs. Literally laughs. “That’s DOWNSTAIRS!” Goodness gracious. American mishap #3. (for those curious, I did get my pass successfully after another few conversations with a few nice men downstairs, but yes… it took me at least 20 minutes to find a way to get downstairs…)

I am finally ready to get groceries. I know that it will be different than American stores. I am prepared for this. I just want to get a few things and to get a little familiar with what Italian supermarkets look like. I walk in, I grab a basket (they have long handles and wheels so you roll it around like a little red wagon of food! Super nice), I see produce! Hooray! I see yogurt- hooray! I even see shampoo! Woohoo! I got this covered. I grab a basket full of items including chicken, apples, olive oil, and a bottle of wine, because I am in Italy and I should always have olive oil and a bottle of wine. I go to checkout. The girl at the register gets to my produce and starts yelling “Pesi! Pesi!” while motioning that I am supposed to PRE-weigh and bag and tag my produce. Of course I am. Oh, and when I get home, I find out that I had accidentally grabbed a wine from CALIFORNIA. Are you kidding me? Big ol’ american flag on the TWIST OFF cap and everything. American mishaps #4, 5 and 87.

Finally, I mentioned “aperitivo” in my last post. Aperitivo is this wonderful Italian tradition of “whetting your appetite before dinner,” which has really turned into “a bunch of free food with a drink that you can really make to be dinner.” Really an excellent activity. But it is also meant as their happy hour. It is a social activity and meant to take place just a bit before dinner which is more like 9pm. So when I show up at 630pm or so, like I did Monday night, not only do you get strange looks for showing up early and ALONE, but the place is absolutely empty. Empty. It’s awkward. Don’t do it. American mishap #6 ish.

So that is the long sequence of events within a few short days of how I have looked like a foolish American in Milan. All of that said, I started work yesterday and everyone in this office is incredibly nice. We are working to get me involved in projects pretty quickly, and I already feel like I am gaining my footing in the office and at my apartment. I know how to lock and unlock my apartment door (trust me, harder than it sounds), I have my little dongle which allows me to get the delicious coffee at work, and I have said a few words in italian to Italians and they understood me. Overall, I think I’m winning.

See you soon!