Troubles at a Roman Market

My first few months living in Italy, I experienced culture shock.  To me, that term means trying to understand how life works in a culture I was unfamiliar with and the struggles that resulted from misunderstanding. Back in the States, when I went to the grocery store, I could touch every and any piece of fruit I wanted.  As an amateur but still critical gourmand, I am quite particular about trying to match the correct food to my culinary needs.  For example, various recipes might have called for riper fruit, like if I were making a banana bread or my own fruit roll ups.  Others, I would have preferred firmer, slightly ripe fruit, like if I were to grill peaches.

Just because I'm in another country doesn't mean I should change my demanding preferences (too much). Right?

Artichokes at Roman Markets can be bought whole, or cut when in season.

Let's go back to my first month in Italy, an age of blissful ignorance. I shopped occasionally at the outdoor market, where it is common to see vendors grab the fruit for you. I simply told them what I needed and in what quantity and they bagged it, weighed it, and sent me on my way.

Mostly, though, largely due to my extremely small comfort zone and inability to speak many Italian words at the time, I went to the large grocery store.  There, I did what I normally do when I purchase produce: feel the product, inspect it, trust in the fruits and vegetables I'm about to buy, and put back the ones I know are not worthy of my coin. After a few minutes of touching and evaluating the firmness/crispness of the apple selection one warm September day, which by the way when eaten raw, the crispier an apple, the better in my humble opinion, the produce guy comes over to me and chastised me like I'm his child. I had no idea what he said to me during his blizzard of words and I am confident he could not communicate it well in English. So after I replied, "What?", he decided to use words his dog would understand.

"No. No! NO!" he said as he pretended to touch all the fruit.

Buddy, you should have rubbed my nose in it so I really would have understood.

Here's my tip for tourists: don't test the produce! Some places have hand shaped plastic bags that go around your hand so you can put back a piece if necessary.  Use those instead.  Or use them to put one small apricot in each finger and see how many weird looks you can get from the locals.

I delicately set the apple back in the pile after being scolded. Fine, I pouted to myself, then I won't buy ANY of your stupid apples. Wishing I had  fluency in Italian, I walked away thinking about what I would have responded with.  Most of it was highly inappropriate for all you wonderful readers, but once I cooled down, it got me thinking.

How do you prove to someone that you are experienced enough to touch fruit and not bruise it? Secondly, how would you do it if you couldn't speak their language?  If you have a solution, I'd like to hear it below.