The Adventure of the Index Cards
If you’ve never seen an “hipermercado,” it is difficult to explain just how “hiper” they are. There are minimarts, there are markets, there are supermarkets, there are whatever those Walmart grocery stores are called, then there are hipermercados. They are so hiper that they attract other smaller stores into their orbit. There is rarely an hipermercado without little ancillary shops sharing its space. Even so, it’s not the size alone that makes them so impressive, but the combination of size and quality. There is a fish counter that appears to be half a city-block long.

But alas there I was, standing in the hipermercado, unable to find the one thing I was looking for — index cards (if you don’t know what index cards are, they look like this). After a few unsuccessful trips around town looking for them, I was beginning to think that maybe they didn’t exist in Portugal. If I could not find them at Continente (the hipermercado), I would know for sure.
I was about to give up, but I still had half hour to kill before meeting my friend to see Planeta dos Macacos, so I continued to wander and look. Also, I really wanted index cards. Why? Because my roommate and I were students again and wanted to make flash cards to help us study. We were about halfway through our three-week intensive Portuguese class at the Faculdade de Letras da Universidade do Porto (FLUP Class of 2017 4 Life!) and had both just about reached the point where we could only remember 20% of the words we were supposed to be learning.
There is probably much to be written about why Portuguese students apparently have no need for flash cards. Differing educational philosophies blah blah blah. But this is not the place, and I really have nothing interesting to say about it. We wanted flash cards. We couldn’t find them. It was sad. The end.
Or was it? Just as I was about to give up, I thought I spied index cards. They weren’t quite in the school supplies section but maybe Portuguese people used them for some other cool purpose that I didn’t even know about. What ensued was a rollercoaster of emotions. I walked over to the display — they were definitely index card shaped. My roommate was going to be so proud of me. I was basically the Fernão de Magalhães (that’s Ferdinand Magellan to my dumb American readers) of index cards. This was especially remarkable because it would mark the first time in my life I have ever been the Magalhães of anything. You can normally find me accidentally walking the wrong way down a street I have lived on for the past five years.
I navigated around the Cape of Pens and Pencils and approached what appeared to be the long sought-after shelter of Index Card Bay. But just as the sandy beaches came into view, all the wind left my sails. There were too many different sizes and shapes — something wasn’t right. These weren’t index cards at all — I had run aground on Envelope Shoal. Arrayed mockingly in front of me were various different-sized envelopes that the cunning Portuguese had packaged to fool Americans into thinking they were index cards.
Dejected, I turned away and set sail for the hipermercado exit. But just as I was getting underway, a thought occurred to me: what is the difference really between index cards and envelopes? They are both two-sided cards that you can write on. Sure, envelopes have some other bells and whistles, but whatever. I wasn’t the Magalhães of index cards, I was the Einstein of envelope cards (just made that name up, pretty good right?). This must have been what he felt like when he figured out relativity. I grabbed a few packs and headed for the checkout line, bursting with pride in my new discovery.
I would have loved to wander the isles of the hipermercado looking for more new products to invent, but I was going to the cinema and I only had time for one major consumer products breakthrough because I needed to buy candy first. I paid for my envelope cards and headed out to Hussel to buy some bulk candy. My “mate” (or whatever funny word South African’s use for “friend”) was meeting me about fifteen minutes before the movie, so I had to hustle to get my awesome European fruit candies.
She was a little late so I could have been more selective at Hussel (probably would not have gotten those weird giant shark gummies), but she was currently one of my three friends over the age of three in Porto, so I forgave her. My class at FLUP was a hodgepodge of people from all over the world but I had managed to make friends with a couple of them, including my movie buddy from South Africa.
Now, before I begin the next part of the story, in which I will bitterly complain about one asinine aspect of Portuguese cinemas, I should clarify that my experience with cinemas here so far as been overwhelmingly positive. The popcorn is adequate — although I have no idea why anyone would choose “doce” over “salgado.” The seats are assigned. The fountain soda is cold (by European standards). There is an intervalo (intermission) in which to go to the bathroom or get more popcorn or cold soda. But the system of obtaining 3D glasses is among the stupidest business practices I have ever encountered.
Obviously I purchased the tickets online because I wanted to use my sweet new Portuguese bank account. And obviously I purchased tickets to a 3D show because 3 is a bigger number than 2. Now call me crazy, but I figured that my purchase would include the 3D glasses that are necessary to watch the movie in 3D. Nope.
I inquired as to where to get our 3D glasses from the ticket-taker lady in my super great Portuguese and was informed that we should get the glasses from the concession stand. Naturally, my friend thought that this nonsense answer was a result of my bad Portuguese and insisted that we confirm in English. We confirmed in English.
Apparently, to watch a 3D movie in Portugal one must purchase 3D glasses from the concession stand. This makes no sense for at least two reasons. First, why would I want to own 3D glasses? Second, why would I want a ticket to a 3D movie but not 3D glasses? I totally understand charging more for a 3D movie. More dimensions, higher price. Fair. But just include the price of the glasses in the ticket and then give me the glasses when I arrive.
Anyway, I now own a pair of 3D glasses and the movie itself was amazing. The only problem was that for large parts of the movie the Macacos did not speak English but some kind of Macaco sign language. This meant that for those portions of the movie, the Portuguese subtitles were all we had to go by. Luckily we were more than halfway through our intensive Portuguese class so we understood a little bit of what was going on. Plus, the important parts of the movie were told through the international language of yelling and blowing things up.
It did feel good to be able to understand as much as we did though. I resolved to make some envelope cards to practice when I got home.
