I bought some cheese in Moskvichka Supermarket yesterday, which turned out to be rotten. As a true cheese lover I was badly annoyed…
I only found out about the fact, that the cheese is rotten, after arriving home and unfolding the thick layer of wrapping. It was too late to drive back to the supermarket. It also ruined my bright evening plans of enjoying cheese and butter and tea.
The whole situation frustrated the hell out of me. I had a troubled night, conjuring up situations, where I take the cheese to the supermarket and they refuse to take it back.
By 7 A.M. this morning I had everything planned – got my phone in recording mode, prepared the spy-camera-pen I had, put the wrapping and the receipt from the supermarket back in its wrapping, braced myself…
“Sure, no problem… yakhk, it is badly rotten, sorry about that,” the lady at the counter told me immediately after I stepped in with made-up bravado and laid my accusing eyes on her, squeezing out: “I bought cheese yesterday. It’s rotten…”
I had prepared for a fight, for false disbelief, for refusal to take back the cheese. Not because I’m quick for imagining things, but because all my experience in Armenia has taught me that.
“Would you like your money back or an equivalent piece of good cheese,” the shop manager asked with a pleasant smile, after the girl at the counter called her and explained the situation.
I walked out of the shop in disbelief. I felt good, but I felt deceived. We’re not used to be treated properly in this country. But I guess change is coming.
Thank you, Moskvichka, for the feel bad story of rotten cheese, which turned into a feel good story.