muted

cranium juice

i figure that i should probably go to the grocery store to buy some cold cuts and other assorted foodstuffs because i have been eating way too much fast food for lunch. i don't go to the grocery store all that often but i convince myself i can pull it off. the fact that i need convincing is pretty sad. trust me, i know.

there's less space in the kitchen for returnables nowadays so i grab the six pack of empty coors lights from babel night and throw the 5 sodaless diet pepsi bottles into a bag before i head out the door. i tell myself that i should make a habit of going to the grocery store every sunday (whoa! let's not get ahead of yourself!) and if i bring the returnables each time, the lack of space for them will never become an issue.

twelve point three five minutes later, the plastic machine spits out a receipt for 25 cents and its glass counterpart offers one for 30. it's worth more than 55 cents to me to have these bottles out of our way and i know i'd feel kind of weird redeeming the two receipts due to their paltry sum. therefore, i chuck them into the trash bin chilling between the 2nd and 3rd machines.

the shopping carts are lined up beside the redemption area and i can see that every single one houses an already leafed through circular (or, as i like to call it, trash). nice. the one closest to me also features a half-eaten bagel so i bypass that one, crumple up the circular from the next one and put it to rest with my 55 cents as i head into the store.

i should get the cold cuts first. on my way over to the deli, i scope out the area to see what i'm facing. is it crowded? nope. it looks like there's only one lady. yup, i was right. sweet.

as i roll closer to the counter i hear her speaking to the deli man who is working by himself.

"so, why are you out of so many things?"

"well, lots of reasons. someone messed up our order. one of the trucks never came..."

it's quite clear from his tone that he is extremely frustrated. yikes. on the rare occasion that i do make a grocery store jaunt, the deli part of it always makes me anxious because it requires talking. as i wait my turn, i'll go over and over my order to make sure i have it down when my number's called. but now i'm freaking out. i don't have much time to practice my order and i don't even know if what i had planned to order will be available. shit. he's already frustrated and i will only make it worse because i'm no good at these things. just speak slowly to avoid stuttering but not too slowly that you piss him off.

"what can i get ya?" heeeere we go!

"umm, do you have any kind of turkey left?" that's not a bad way to start this process, i guess.

"all i got is honey turkey."

"ok, can i have 3/4 of a pound of that please?" i ask as quickly as my mouth will let me.

"ok, and if you're looking for ham, all i got is domestic."

i'm not sure what that means but i'm not about to ask for a definition. "can i please have 3/4 of a pound of that too?"

"sure. if you're looking for any italian meets, we got none."

"i'm not, thanks."

i can see that the counter is a mess. scraps are everywhere. meats are hanging out in slicers. bags are strewn all over the place.

while working on the turkey he turns to me, shaking his head.

"unfuckin' believable," he declares.

i'm a little surprised to hear the "fuckin'" part but i make sure not to show it.

"this day has been an absolute fuckin' nightmare. we don't have anything that we ordered."

"oh, man," i offer. "and sunday's are the worst, too, right?" oh, please be right, please be right, please be right.

"you ain't kiddin!"

phew!

"and to top it off, one kid never showed up and another called 2 hours late to say he wouldn't be coming in."

"wow."

"yeah. unfuckin' believable. and the kid who did show left 25 minutes early because he didn't feel like working anymore."

"you're kidding me."

"i wish i was. look at this mess. and i gotta clean it all up by myself. i think you're gonna be my last customer."

he bags the turkey.

"great. and now we're out of fuckin' bags."

oh crap. i wonder what that means as i still need that ham and i've yet to order cheese.

"i'm leavin' at 8 o'clock tonight. i don't give a shit. i'll leave this place just as it is. wouldn't the board of health just love that - all this food sittin' out overnight? that'll teach 'em. i'm ready to just walk out and never come back. that's how pissed off i am."

an "i don't blame you" and a head shake is all i have with which to respond.

he finishes with the ham and luckily, a few more bags appear out of nowhere. as he hands the ham to me, he says

"i'm sorry to lay this all on you - to vent like this."

"oh, no no no! i don't mind at all." that's the truth, too. i've been told i'm a good listener.

"anything else?"

"just a pound of american cheese please. and that's it."

"the yellow?"

"sure."

"all i got is land o' lakes."

"that's fine with me."

33 seconds later he throws what he's sliced so far onto the scale. it reads .5 lbs. he returns to the machine and starts catching each slice in his gloved hand. hmmm, i don't think he's aiming for a pound here. once the scale reads .75 lbs, the slicing stops. that's a quarter pound less than i requested, but you couldn't pay me enough to point that out to him. 3/4 of a pound of land o' lakes yellow american cheese will do just fine.

he hands me the cheese. i'm not sure how to wrap this up so i say "i'm sorry."

"nah...it's not your fault."

i wheel my cart towards the bread aisle and hear him say to a colleague as he heads behind the deli scenes "don't page me, i can't take any more customers. i gotta clean up."

i've barely left the bread aisle when the crappy store music is interrupted by the intercom:

"...please report to the deli. you have a customer."

whoa! i immediately feel badly for that customer as he is about to get exploded cranium juice all over his sunday best.