A usual Monday morning in the supermarket. Nothing particularly interesting. A re-union with our butcher, who was waiting for family AngloSwiss to arrive. We moved on to the vegetables and on the way there he was, the intruder. He was not really an intruder. He just took the wrong path and fluttered through one of the spaces from outside to inside where he or she was overwhelmed by the choice of goodies and pecking opportunities. The sparrow was perched on the ground taking a look at the overwhelming rows of nicely packed food.
This was a chance not to be ignored. Mr. Swiss walked on and I pulled out my mobile telephone and began to shoot photos. I would have liked to have taken some photos with my camera which I also had in my bag, but was unsure how long the sparrow would be my model. There was a golden oldie couple also choosing their goods from the supermarket shelves. I became an object of attention naturally. I suppose normal people do not take photos in a supermarket. They make a sour face of unapproval – a sparrow flying around in a supermarket, how unhygenic. Actually the male golden oldie did smile when he saw me taking photos of the sparrow, but his wife ignored me with disapproval.
The sparrow paused and made a discovery: something a human would have ignored, not being qualified as food. However, sparrows live in other proportions, size is relative and even if we do not even notice a crumb of food, the sparrow does. It is nutrition, so have a peck and swallow it, there might be more where this came from.
In the meanwhile the sparrow decided on a flight and ascended to the ribs of the roof, which were ideal perches for a “bird’s eye view”. Unfortuntaely he was now too high and too far for a clear sharp photo. I tried, but they resembled a fluffy blurr instead of a sparrow regarding the supermarket from the skeleton of the ceiling.
It returned and I continue to take photos. The gold oldie couple were now moving on. Did I see the female shaking her head thinking that sparrows really did not belong in supermarkets. Her partner moved on with her, he just wanted a quiet life. I also moved on and passed the meat counter again. Seeing the assistant I told her of my discovery of a sparrow in the supermarket, I was full of admiration for the sparrow naturally. She said “is he still here” with no great enthusiasm, so I deduced it was probably a normal situation. Sparrows just do not follow the rules it seems. They are continuously making mistakes, vicims of oversights, although perhaps in sparrow psychology it was judged as a lucky break. They had discovered the land of milk and honey and were not prepared to go, until everything had been tried.
We left the supermarket, after I stayed a while in the flower department to see if they had anything worth a photo – they did. On the way Mr. Swiss informed me that probably not everyone has so much pleasure seeing a sparrow in a supermarket as I do, as they might not even approve of me taking photos of the sparrow. After all the sparrow was an intruder, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was sure that the sparrow was happy to be where he was and was absolutely not of the same opinion.
Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss 
It would have been an oversight not to have taken the photo – was not the bird there at the same time as your good self in order to be photographed and prompt you to write today’s feature – fate has a mysterious way of working.
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Don’t tell anyone, but I smuggled the bird in myself to break up the monotony of shopping 🙂
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You’re secret is safe with me.
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Glad I was able to visit your site again after being cut off from it for days…
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Glad to see you back. I noticed you were having difficuilties, although I did not see any other problems.
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Ja it’s not the Swiss way to be a sparrow in Migros…
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Funny you should say that. You are really a Swiss expert.
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I’ve just done a lot of things that were not the Swiss way. 🙂
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I do it constantly, that is the fun of it all. Mr. Swiss tells that not everyone understands my humour. Oh well, I think he means the Swiss mainly.
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I taught hundreds of Swiss students at the international school. They were frustrated beyond endurance with America, many of them. One of them started to write a book to help Americans (and America) become organized.
During those years I had one of those watches that has the moon rising in the evening and the sun in the morning. It was a standing joke between my office mate and me that the watch had to have been made in Switzerland for Americans to help us tell day from night. Actually, the watch was made in Japan… but the joke was good.
Some of the Swiss would just go nuts over here, relieved to be in a comparatively chaotic world — though they often perceived it as more chaotic than it actually is and sometimes got into trouble.
Definitely a different sense of humor. I found myself explaining American humor to my Swiss (and German) students all the time. But my Swiss Medievalist Historian friend is one of the funniest people I know — not in the American style, though. He says I have a medieval sense of humor and that’s OK with me. That means my humor is raunchy, dark and full of puns. 🙂
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I tried to explain “why did the chicken cross the road” to a Russian. When I failed, all my office mates chimed in and we couldn’t do it. Sergei could not understand why that was considered funny. It really ISN’T funny, but for some reason, it makes us laugh. Definitely a strange sense of humor.
Yesterday at a birthday party, we were howling with laughter and how expensive it is to get buried and how most of the cemeteries are actually full. No room for our bones. Not everyone would find it funny. But every country has its own jokes that don’t make sense in any other context. Aussies have a pretty strange idea of funny too. For that matter, I’ve met some Brits … well, actually, I was married to one … And that itself was pretty funny.
Did someone help the little bird find the exit?
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Never try to explain anything to a Russian, they will not believe it, and put you on charges of spreading anti chicken propaganda.The worst sense of humour I have ever experienced is the Japanese one. It is not humour. I once watched a japanese comedy show, and it was more like a documentary film, but the audience were laughing with tears in their eyes. I am still trying to work it out. Swiss tell jokes, but I am never certain if I should laugh or not. I love british humour, especially the black humour – they find a funny side to everything.
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