Oh Cherry Hill, I remember when you were just a hole in the wall, so many years ago. You were open all night, which fit my own crazy schedule so well. Eugene manned the counter with his rubber hand and made polite conversation in the wee hours while I packed my produce into the canvas bag I had brought with me.
And then, seemingly overnight, you grew into this large, beautifully appointed and well-stocked grocery store with a professional floral designer, a deli, a patisserie section, a cheese counter, and a really beautiful array of fruits and veggies stocked by stout Mexican men as far as the eye could see. You stood out particularly during the winter holidays when your ornately painted windows brought a festive splash of holiday color to the drabness of the season. It filled me with quiet pride to see you all grown up and enjoying the success you so richly deserved.
Sure, the prices were a bit higher, but the quality of your produce is generally higher, too. And some of the homemade foods were to die for! The green borscht with sorrel. The Khachapuris. The herbed plov. Even simple baked potatoes had a salty garlicky goodness that I have not been able to reproduce quite as well. I was willing to spend the extra money because I actually believe in customer loyalty. But alas, for one reason and one reason only, that loyalty was worn away until I finally defected permanently and happily to your competitor across the street.
The reason: your clientele. I've come to genuinely dislike shopping at predominately Russian venues. Believe me, I know that sounds terrible. Culturally, Russians are wonderful. I love their literary and culinary traditions. I love their infectious zest for life. But as consumers too many of them behave as if they're still bum rushing some bread line in Chelyabinsk hoping to get the last mealy potato or wilted parsnip. Not all, of course, but enough to leave a damning impression.
Why do so many Cherry Hill shoppers seem oblivious to whether or not they are blocking a narrow path and think nothing of leaving a cart dead center in an aisle instead of courteously moving it over to the side so people can get by? Really. How does a person reach late adulthood and never make that observation? The mind fairly boggles. But the most egregious offense -- and I have witnessed this time and time again -- is the penchant for doing half of one's shopping, rolling up and claiming a place in line with their shopping cart, and then proceeding to run around doing the second half of their shopping. That is really fucking cheeky. Yet no one ever seems to notice or attempt to intervene.
And there's always at least one old lady who pretends she didn't realize that a single line feeds into all the cash registers while she tries stealthily to skip ahead. If they have a question about a particular product, they think nothing of waiting until it is being processed by the cashier to ask her, and then hastily jogging back into the store to exchange it while everyone is left to wait. It's infuriating and no ethnic group I've come across in Brooklyn does it more consistently than people from the former Soviet republics.
So yeah, I don't expect the clientele to change their ways any time soon -- especially if management always allows it to slide without comment -- which means they probably won't be getting much of my money in the future. Judging by the fact that they're no longer open 24 hours, I'm guessing I'm not the only customer who defected to Vucciria. read more