Tesco, a British hypermarket chain, has almost 300 stores across Europe, so European tourists usually look happy to have found a familiar beacon of consumerism in an unfamiliar land. You can pick out the Americans (used to Muzak, wide-aisled Wal-Marts and employees taught to smile) by their shell-shocked look and the way they take it personally when scolded by the lady at the checkout.

The noise in Tesco reaches its peak in the late afternoon, a unique din of transactions, clattering shopping baskets and people longing for their native junk food in 20 different languages. Along with many other expats living in Prague, I am a big fan of the "international" section of the supermarket, which offers curry paste and cereal. Every time I go there, I get the joy of watching someone new to Tesco exclaiming happily to their friends, "Hey, guys! Peanut butter!"

The mix of hardened regulars and endless stream of new tourists, as well as the sheer number of people coursing through the store, lend the supermarket a curious frontier-town feel, as if this is a place where anything can happen. The distinctly Prague-flavored lawlessness of Tesco was illustrated one recent afternoon when I went on a Nutella run with my roommate.

When I met him in the queue, he was engaged in an argument with the adolescent checkout clerk. "Ne! Ne!" he was saying desperately, pointing to the receipt. "Ano! Ano! Ano!" the clerk replied, shaking her long red-highlighted ponytail vehemently. He had been charged for 10 containers of Nutella and one roll, when in fact it was the other way around.

While we waited for the manager to come redo the transaction, a young guy with a shaved head walked up, squeezed past everyone in line and hopped over to the checkout clerk's side. They exchanged warm greetings and then, as the six people behind us in line stared disinterestedly at the gum stand or counted the rolls in their baskets, the couple began to make out vigorously.

I met eyes with the scruffy-faced man holding only a plastic two-liter bottle of wine waiting patiently at the end of the line. He shrugged and let his gaze drift elsewhere. Meanwhile, the guy with the shaved head was squeezing his checkout girlfriend's butt thoughtfully, with professionalism, as if testing melons for weight at the vegetable counter and deciding what price sticker to slap on them.

When the manager arrived, the couple reluctantly separated. And I realized that I wasn't offended or even embarrassed. Instead, I was inspired. Here in the checkout line, I had found two packs of Orbit chewing gum, a tabloid and love itself, the most priceless thing of all.