A Tale From Orvieto, Italy
I am not exactly sure what the badge said, but it looked official to me. He was probably in his mid-30’s and his partner a bit older, perhaps 50-something. Any other time and I would have thought “hottie”, but with the flash of the badge and the ensuing questions, all thoughts of flirting with the attractive Italian man flew out the window.
I was just finishing up my food shopping spree in Orvieto and was about to head down the road to my B&B that sat just down the hill, outside of the city walls. I was hungry and ready to eat. This “hottie” with the badge was standing between me and food – and Italian vino. He better have a good reason.
“Your receipt,” he said, pointing at the plastic bag in my hand filled with a small bottle of olive oil, cured meats, cheese and a bag of biscotti. The receipt was buried in my backpack with the rest of my food, wine and personal belongings. The camera was in the bottom half of the pack. I took off the pack to look, feeling put out by it all.
“How much you pay,” he asked in broken English.
“19.25 euro,” I replied, remembering the exact amount. Hottie looked at his partner, a knowing look in his eyes.
“Did I do something wrong,” I asked.
“No, not you,” he said emphatically.
Whew, I thought. What was going on? Did the nice man back at the meat store not charge me tax or something? I was confused, but didn’t want to be uncooperative.
Restaurant in Orvieto with outdoor seating
I found the receipt which I showed Hottie.
“Come with us,” he said. Whaaa? Seriously, I was wondering what might happen. But, we were on a main street and there were others around.
“Ho fame,” I complained in Italian. I was so hungry.
“Just a minute,” he said, trying to appease me.
Street in Orvieto
We walked just a short way to the to-go pizza place where I had just bought some pizza bianca. He went inside with the receipt while I stayed outside with 50-something. But, this wasn’t right.
“No, not here,” I exclaimed. I had not bought the bag of goodies at this place. Just the pizza bianca that was in my backpack.
50-something called to Hottie inside and Hottie came back out, gave me the receipt and said, “Sorry.” At least he looked slightly apologetic.
Yeah, buddy, you better be. I quickly walked down the road before they decided to stop me for something else.
As I made my way down the hill, tummy growling, I tried to figure out what this whole fiasco was about. The only thing I came up with is that they thought the lady at the pizza place sold me goods she wasn’t supposed to – the meats and cheeses.
When I got back to my B&B, I sat on my terrace and stuffed my face, forgetting all about my brush with the law. Or maybe that was the wine…
View from the terrace of my room at the B&B