To the Troll Lady Behind the Deli Counter:
You may not remember me. More than likely you don't. That's fine - I really don't have a problem with that, and truth be told, I'm not terribly memorable. I am perfectly comfortable with my innate averageness.
I came into your store the other night just to pick up a few things. I had just left the gym, so I was in shorts and a t-shirt - ring a bell? Maybe, considering it was pretty chilly out. Anyway, you see, my girlfriend had rehearsal that night, so she wasn't going to be home for dinner, and truth be told, I didn't feel like cooking, so I thought, I'll just go over to the deli and grab something there. I grabbed my basket, picked up the skim milk and bread I was looking for, and made my way back to your section. I'll be honest, your department has always treated me well. I'm a fan of your selections. You - I had never seen before, but I'm willing to give everyone a chance.
I decided on the two piece baked chicken dinner, with a roll and a side of mashed. I take my number, and you ask me what I'd like. I tell you the two-piece baked chicken dinner, with a roll and a side of mashed. Now, we both know the two-piece baked chicken dinner, with a roll and a side of mashed comes with a breast, and either a leg or a wing. Personally, I'm fine with either leg or wing. The leg or wing, doesn't matter to me, they both serve their purpose.We both know it's the breast that is the star of the show. While you are working your deli magic, I get distracted by the impressive cheese display you have going on. Kudos indeed on the cheese display. Soon enough you come back and hand me my plastic-encased platter of poultry goodness.
Now, perhaps this is my fault. Perhaps I should have been watching what you were doing, instead of getting caught up in the wheels of gouda. But you handed the food back to me, and I swear, I think you went out of your way to find the smallest chicken ever born. I looked in the tray in the display case, and all the breasts were enormous. Huge. It was like the Dolly Parton of chickens, and she was having a four-way with Jayne Mansfield, Sophia Loren, and Anna Nicole Smith. I looked in the container in my hands. I was certain a mistake had been made. Perhaps a midget chicken that should have been spared for medical research was mistakenly slaughtered and served up for my dinner. It was the 13-year-old pre-pubescent boy of chickens. In fact, as I stared at it, it took a moment for me to realize that two pieces actually were there. They were just stacked on top of each other. The tiny breast completely obscured the even tinier leg. At first I thought maybe you were trying to tell me I was fat and could do with the smaller piece. Look, I know I'm not in great shape, but that's why I ordered the baked chicken rather than the fried, and obviously, I had been at the gym. I was in shorts, a sweat-stained t-shirt, and I'm sure I smelled like a treadmill. So, you had to know I'm trying to be a bit healthier.
"Excuse me," I said, waving you down. You looked at me. "Um, I was wondering...if you wouldn't mind....uh....what gives?" I ask.
"What's the problem," you spit out.
Uh-oh.
"Well....I mean...take a look," I said, showing her the container and hoping to avoid a clash.
"You ordered the two-piece, that's what you got," you spit out, crusty gravy on your apron.
"Well...yeah, I realize that. But, you know...this barely qualifies..., " I start before you cut me off.
"You ordered the two-piece, that's what you got."
"No," I say, trying to remain friendly. "I know...I'm just saying....I mean... take a look....you can't spare a larger breast? I have no problem keeping the tiny leg....but you know....."
"You ordered the two-piece, that's what you got," you said.
I understand, you have your rules. I get it. Perhaps there is some sort of deli code that states you can't take anything back once it crosses the threshold of the display case. That's really not what bugged me. What pissed me off is when you finished your last "You ordered the two-piece, that's what you got", you turned your back on me and started walking towards the meat counter. You completely dismissed me, a 39-year-old customer who simply wanted something other than a genetically-stunted chicken that was handed to me.
"Excuse me," I say again, your back towards me.
"You ordered the two-piece, that's what you got," you said, never breaking stride.
"YOU'RE A MISERABLE HUMAN BEING," I loudly stated, the cheese man even looking up and over at me. You continued on your way.
So, thank you for that. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to spend the rest of my evening in a chicken-fueled rage. Thank you for giving me essientially one piece of chicken, yet letting me pay the price of two. I realize it would have completely killed you to find the other leg of the tiny mutant chicken and thrown that in to make up for the tiny breast. I now see the error of my ways.
So thank you again, Troll Lady of the Deli Counter. Long may you smell of Virginia Slims and potato salad.
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