In the local Maxima supermarket the other day I was asked the question, "Kas need on seemneteta?" by an earnest cashier, who held up the bunches of grapes in a clear plastic bag, across which was written in gigantic letters, S E E D L E S S.
For the uninitiated, a 'ta' ending to a word means 'without,' and a 'ga' ending means 'with.' Läksin poodi Epuga, I went to the shop with Epp, läksin poodi Eputa, I went to the shop without Epp.
Back from the good ol' USofA, it startled me a bit that this poor soul in bumblefuckbogland could hold up a bag that said S E E D L E S S on it, and ask me if the grapes within had seeds or no seeds. But she's a foreigner, or, rather, I am a foreigner, so why should I expect her to understand English?
I did lean a bit over the counter and say, "You know, S E E D L E S S means seemneteta in English." She blushed a bit, those moist apple freckled cheeks. A plump cashier, a young cashier. I peered at her nametag. Her first name was something like, Angela. Her second was too long to be bothered with. Maybe it said Baryshnikov or Rachmaninoff.
Maxima, though Lithuanian owned, is the domain of the Estonian Russians. Maybe it's the cheaper prices (because most Estonian Russians are poor, except for the wealthiest people in Estonia, the transit tsars and restauranteurs and casino magnates, who are also Estonian Russians). Or maybe they feel a big Balto-Slavic affinity with the Lithuanians. Shit, whatever it is, if you want to meet a Russian in some homogeneous town (with some culture) in south Estonia, he or she can be found behind the register at the local Maxima.
Like the gal chatting with the American in Estlandic about S E E D L E S S grapes.
And if you are searching for a point, there is none. But life is entertaining, no?