A supermarket bromance.
For the benefit of non-linguist readers, the Spanish dialogue and text message in this post appear in both their original and translated forms.
One of the highlights of an otherwise mundane existence is my friendship, albeit brief, with one of the Argentina’s most celebrated footballers, Esteban Cambiasso.
Not long after he had signed for Leicester City, I was astonished to find myself standing behind the great man whilst queueing to pay for a couple of items at a local Lidl. Unfortunately, Esteban was not used to the speed with which the cashier was scanning his groceries, and he was beginning to get a bit flustered as they began to pile up on the narrow edge of the cashier’s booth.
Having picked up a bit of the old español at a recent introduction to Spanish night-school class, I felt emboldened to intervene and started to help him to pack his purchases, which included incidentally, several yellow label discounted items, into his shopping trolley.
«Señor Cambiasso, permitame ayudarle».
«Gracias. Llamame Esteban».
“Señor Cambiasso, let me help you.“
“Thanks. Call me Esteban.“
He waited for me as I paid for the “flavour of the week” Italian ham and cheese that I’d gone there for, and then we left the building together. Outside, we continued to chat casually in Spanish for a few minutes. I asked him the time, while he wanted directions to the station and wondered how much a kilo of oranges might cost at the market.
He then thanked me for my help and we parted, I assumed, to find our respective vehicles. However, as I opened my Fiat’s door, I was surprised to see that Esteban was in fact heading towards the bus-stop across the road. So, I called out to him:
«¡Oye, Esteban! ¿Quieres que te lleve a casa?»
“Hey, Esteban! Fancy a lift home?“
He gave me a thumbs up and swiftly made his way back over to the store. Keen to employ his then limited English he told me about his day. I gleaned that his Maserati was up on the ramp at the dealership with some as yet undiagnosed computer fault. Unfortunately, the garage didn’t have a spare courtesy car available for him to use, hence taking the bus.
Anyway, he got into the car and as I was loading his shopping into the back of the Punto, I was instantly struck by just how lovely his shopping trolley was. It even had his name colourfully emblazoned on its top!
«¡Qué carro de la compra bonito!» I blurted excitedly.
“What a lovely shopping trolley!“
«Sí, es un modelo clásico por lo tanto hay solamente dos ruedas pero tiene una capacidad máxima de casí 40 litros. Es mi favorito», the stylish Argentine legend enthused from my Fiat’s passenger seat, which he had by the way, reclined to a very rakish angle.
“Yes, it’s a classic (model), so there’s only two wheels but it’s got a maximum capacity of almost 40 litres! It’s my favourite.“
“Cuchu” as Esteban later asked me to call him, liked to personalise his shopping trolleys. When he left LCFC he gave me the pick of his collection, which he’d named Enrique, apparently after his childhood pet Schnauzer. What a beauty, eh!
We then exchanged phone numbers and once he’d settled into a routine at the club, Esteban began to text me fun reports of his post-training shopping exploits in supermarkets across Leicestershire. As our friendship blossomed, we began to plan outings together. These would often involve us crossing the border into neighbouring counties to explore and compare the layouts and offers of the supermarket chains there. One day it might be a humble Co-op in Nottinghamshire, another day, if we were feeling flush, we might venture out to somewhere more glamorous like an out-of- town M&S foodhall or a Waitrose somewhere in deepest Northants.
Whenever he travelled to away games with the team, I’d suggest that Cuchu visit any new and exciting regional supermarket chains that didn’t have branches anywhere in the Midlands. Once, when Leicester City were playing a behind-closed-doors friendly in Preston, he famously asked manager Nigel Pearson to stop the team bus outside a branch of Booths, so he could check out its famous deli-counter and do a quick top up shop.
Time flew by. Having helped LCFC to avoid relegation, his work in Leicester was done and Esteban decided to move on to Greece for a new challenge with Olympiakos. The day before he departed for Athens, I was dining alone in the café at an Asda, when I received a text from him that read:
Adiós, querido amigo. ¡Gracias para todas las aventuras fantásticas! Quiero que tu tengas Enrique. Voy a dejarlo en el estadio mañana por la mañana, antes de salir. ¡Disfrtutalo!
Un fuerte abrazo.
Cuchu
Goodbye, dear friend. Thanks for all the great adventures! I want you to have Enrique. I’m going to leave him at the ground tomorrow morning, before I leave. Enjoy him!
A big hug.
Cuchu
Not long after Esteban had moved to Greece, I upgraded my phone and somehow managed to lose his number. Maybe he had done the same, as that was the last time that I heard from him. Deep down I probably knew that he had most likely decided to move on. After all, the Greek capital and her environs would offer many new thrills and temptations that he would never share with me. I imagined it would just be too painful for both of us. I knew things were truly over when he unfriended me on Facebook and then blocked me on Instagram.
Esteban was very attached to Enrique. Here they both are in action at the King Power against West Brom, who coincidentally are also known as the Baggies. Great times indeed!
Anyway, they say that time is a great healer and I know that I would be the envy of many a Foxes fan, if they knew about my crazy supermarket escapades with the Argentinian midfield maestro. I will always cherish those amazing memories. As for Enrique, ever the looker, he still turns heads turns heads and draws approving comments whenever I take him out. Yes, I am truly blessed.