Superstore v British Imperialism

I am reunited with the world this morning via TV5. In Sweden, short-dayed winter Sweden, people travelling into Stockholm this morning had to pay a 10 Krona tax. They grumbled a bit, but because the Scandanavians are greener than God, they'll get used to it and start coming in with snowshoes or some such. I loved the way TV5 reported this, they listed off the different vehicles that were exempt, but the tax must be paid by those driving every other vehicle, ie, 'Monsieur et Madame tout-le-monde.'

Yesterday afternoon, having eaten enough turkey, and being down to my last hundredweight of the various coffees that sustain my life, we decided to go Canadian Superstore.

The trolleys there can only be released by inserting a loony - a Canadian dollar - but at some point, Superstore management decided to sell you tokens, a pretend loony. These cost a loony, but they fit on your keyring, so we bought one. Now, whenever you take your trolley back it seems, there is someone waiting there with some amount of change who wants to exchange their coins for your one dollar piece. Then you must explain to them that you in fact have a token. Naturally, some contrary universal law dictates that this interchange only ever takes place with a person who speaks little or no English, thus you feel like a heel who won't hand over your precious loony.

In the car park, we see a car with a huge, floppy deep red velvet bow on the front. Kevin remarks on this, and it reminds me of the comic relief red noses for cars. In Merry England, and in fact the rest of the British Isles, every other March-ish, we have red nose day. This was started by Lenny Henry and his band of merry men, literally, they are all comedians, to take money from the rich - well, anyone really - and give to the poor. The whole country joins in, BBC programming for the evening is given over to it, every school, shop, drinking establishment and just about everyone in the country becomes stupid for the day and raises money. This invariably involves wearing silly clothes and wigs. Sainsburys and other worthy British institutions sell red noses for a quid, which you are supposed to keep jammed on your face all day. And they sell really, really big red noses for the front of your car. All of which is fine in the days, even weeks leading up to red nose day, but afterwards becomes tired and sad.

Finally inside the store, we are in a situation. Kevin quite reasonably, really hates the tendency of other shoppers to block the aisle with their trolleys. I hate it too, but not because it actually holds me up, but because it forces 'teacher voice' to come out.
'Would you excuse me please?' I always say loudly in my imperious English voice. My version of polite. Then they move, but I have had to hear my voice ring out clearly in the supermarket, so now I have to take on my cloak of invisibility.
Yesterday's situation was worse. The very first aisle was blocked by a trolley with two children sitting in it and no adult in sight. All around are frustrated shoppers sending telepathic messages to the absent parents. One Chinese woman was so agitated that she made actual eye contact with me. Without a second's warning, teacher voice came out, modified slightly, teacher addressing deaf aliens.
'WHERE ARE YOUR PARENTS ?'
Parent appeared, scowled at me, but moved the trolley. For once, I was more pissed off than embarrassed, so I let the cloak of invisibility stay in its bag.

My British Imperialism has recently developed a need to protect other European languages, I have to say Spanish words in a Spanish way. I think this began when I heard a TV presenter refer to Ibiza as Ibeezza. I want to ask if the deli counter has any chorizo.
'Say chorizzo,' mutters Kevin,'they won't understand if you say choritho.' He's right of course. The lady behind the counter knows her stuff but she doesn't understand my English, nor I hers.

We escape the gravity well of Superstore and Kevin has decided to make his world-famous chicken wings for tea, so I'm happy, but BI is not over for the day. During the evening the door bell rings. Then there is a hammering on the door. I go down to open it. A young man immediately launches into his spiel. He pauses so that I can answer the question whether I would like my free Vancouver Sun delivered to place a or place b.
'So is this a free copy that I have to pay for or a free copy I don't have to pay for?' I ask.
'I haven't finished,' he says. I repeat my question, he repeats his statement. He admits that I would have to pay for my free copy but.....
I thank him but tell him he needs to go. He hasn't finished his spiel, he wants to do the spiel. It's not going to happen. He tries another tack, he's a student, don't I want to support students ? Sure I do, I want to support them by paying taxes. When I'm allowed to pay taxes I'll be supporting them. I virtually have to shut the door on him. He was a nice kid, but he shouldn't have been out in the dark annoying Brits.