Otto called me back Ten Minutes (=40 minutes) later and bellowed cheerfully about my order: "We got that. We got that. We don't got that, I never heard of -- oh, the plum halves. We got that. Here. I read you a list of other Christmas candies we have, not on the website yet." We interrupted the cheerful order bellowing for two other phone calls on his end, both of which were fully audible to me. One fellow: "Hello, I was wondering if you had Hungarian beer?" Otto: "No we got none of that too bad for you bye!" And the other conversation was entirely in Hungarian. From the tone of bellow, I couldn't tell whether they were saying, "THREE JARS of the STUFFED YELLOW PEPPERS WITH CABBAGE," or, "HOW COULD YOU do that to my daughter, YOU ROTTEN SONOFABITCH." It was vastly entertaining. My favorite part is when I was spelling my name for him, and he said, "Esh as in shale?" Uh..."Oh! Yes, s as in sale!"
Also: "There are only about a hundred and seventy orders before yours, so I will get it out today, maybe tomorrow!"
I have no idea whether we will get what I ordered, but I'm pretty sure we'll wind up with some wine, some fruit, some sausage, and some chocolates, and it was so much fun to bellow at Otto, I don't mind if it's a little different from what we wanted.
I am also amused at the cultural difference: I have been to at least a dozen Scandinavian markets in the US, and I'm somewhere around half that for the Eastern European ones. And no Scando grocer ever brims with the same confidence that you will have a pressing need for their entire stock. Otto, in signing off, yelled at me, "You will need chestnut puree! You call me back!" Heh. I guess if I need chestnut puree, I know who to yell at.