She nearly ran me over at the deli counter. Her hard line walk was pointed in my direction and I had to be fleet footed to get out of her path.
“Excuse Me!” She said with all the snide discourse of Steve Martin.
I clenched my counter ticket number 79 a little tighter reminding myself to be clam. “I was in her way?” I thought.
Ten minutes earlier I had taken two tickets by mistake. I gave 78 to the very attractive brunet before I noticed the diamond ring on her finger. Now she was loading up her basket with pounds of meat for the holiday weekend.
Another ten minutes later I still found myself waiting. Now the woman who nearly knocked me over was standing next to me. A little too close. I could smell the glow of her afternoon activities blow in my direction.
“Number 79,” the deli man called.
As I stepped up to the counter holding my ticket up the obnoxious woman stepped in front of me without a ticket and boldly saying “Could I get a quick taste before you help him.”
He looked at her, turned his head and looked to me, then said “quick taste?”
The other deli man stepped in, “I can help you miss.”
“I would like to try your Boars Head liverwurst please.” Her thin untucked white shirt did not cover the size of her caboose in the tight black stretch paints.
“Yes, the Boars Head.”
The two deli men consulted for a second with their backs to us then turned back and one took my order while the other helped her.
Three simples things: turkey, ham and salami regular slice, one pound each.
Her order of “just a quick taste” turned out to be a task. It was a difficult to reach item buried in the case. It need to be opened. The soft nature of liverwurst makes the slices awkward to cut and better designed as a spread or for a spoon. Still, he pressed on.
I only noticed what had occurred when my deli man said “fucking bitch” under his breath. My patronage to this store was enough that he recognized me and knew he could say these things without recourse.
My deli man said to the other, “did she really just get a free sample of liverwurst and walk away?”
“Fucking bitch. No more samples for her. That is third time and the last time Now we have to strip and clean that slicer.” The two went to work on the chrome and steel machine.
Minutes later at the check out I stood in the cash only line. A specialty of single men.
The next lane over, with a large sign that read “Credit Card Only” the annoying woman from the deli was ruining the evening of another person. “I only have my debit card, what do you mean you only take credit?” Her voice began to rise.
Is it that people believe that they deserve special treatment? Are they fools who just don’t pay attention to the rules our society has in place? Maybe they like the high drama of stirring things up.
Whatever it is, I don’t find it very attractive. Plus, her breath must wreak. Who eats liverwurst like that?