Drama at the Deli Counter

I pulled the little paper tab out of the dispenser and looked at my number. It was 01, and the digital display behind the deli counter was on 97. Not bad, I thought, and went and stood in line while I thought of all the delicious meat and cheese I was about to acquire.

I knew who my opponents were, there were only three numbers between the one on the digital display and the number on the little piece of paper in my hand. That should have meant that there were only three people in front of me, but there only seemed to be two people besides me who were standing around at the deli counter. Hmmm, that could mean that there was a pull and run. Someone who took a number and then ran off to get some other stuff hoping that they could get back before their number came up.

That never works, I thought to myself, they always get back after their number has been called and passed by. They should be required to take another number and wait like everyone else, but they always put up a stink and get the deli clerk to serve them. That’s not fair to the rest of us, but they don’t care. All they care about is themselves, those selfish deli customers. I’ll make sure to watch out for them, some over-booked soccer mom won’t usurp me from my rightful place in the deli line, I thought.

One of the other people waiting was an older guy wearing a baseball cap and scanning the area nervously. I figured he probably had number 99 or 00 and was expecting the pull and run to come back at any second. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he might be next.

The little old lady who was being served when I showed up was still ordering meats. She seemed to have a long list and was taking her time with it. She asked for a sample slice of everything, carefully chewing it and pondering if she wants a full pound or half a pound. When I go to the deli, I know what I want before I get there. If not, then I make the decision while I wait for my number to come up, but either way once that number comes up I’m right on the ball with my orders. Not this lady, she was acting like she was the only person in the store, one hand on her grocery cart and the other clutching her well thought out shopping list.

Mr. Baseball cap was starting to look a little more uneasy, he knew that the usurper was out there somewhere waiting to pounce when his number came up. I gave him a look of understanding, kind of an unspoken “I feel your pain”. There were two clerks behind the counter, and they were both serving the little old lady.

They were the stereotypical kind of deli clerks. There is always a guy in his mid to late twenties with long hair tied in a pony-tail and stuffed under his hat and down behind the back of his smock. He’s usually that guy who is in a band, and is just working at the deli until he hits the big time. He never does anything too quickly and always has a look on his face like he’s daydreaming about being chased by groupies.

Then there is the one that seems to think he is a stand up comedian. This one is usually well groomed and always has a smile on his face. They are pleasant to deal with, but like the rock star, they don’t move too quickly. They are too busy trying to come up with a funny or witty comeback to every order you place. Usually they bomb horribly, which is why they are working in the deli and not out on a comedy club tour, but you always try to be nice and laugh at their half-witted comments.

Sometimes there are three clerks working at the same time, but it doesn’t make a difference because there are never more than two of them serving customers. The third one usually just putters around behind the counter trying to look busy so that he or she doesn’t have to do any real work. I always despise the third one, doesn’t matter who it is.

Of course, there is also my favorite one, the cute little elderly deli clerk. They are the ones that always get stuck alone when it’s real busy. You know they are only working for the benefits, or just to keep busy in retirement. I try to have the most patience with them, because they are usually the best deli clerks you could ask for. Unfortunately because they always get left alone, they aren’t too quick either. Not being quick seems to be a pre-requisite to working behind a supermarket deli counter.

The little old lady finally finished her lunchmeat orders and had moved on to cheeses. It looked like she had a pretty long list and I was starting to believe that there was nothing but deli items on it. She had already ordered several different kinds of meat, how many different types of cheese does one person really need? I said a little prayer hoping that she didn’t move on to potato and macaroni salad when she finished with cheese.

Meanwhile another person showed up in the line and didn’t take a number. Mr. Baseball cap had his hackles raised, as did I. We both suspected that this was the dreaded usurper. It was a young looking guy, maybe in his early twenties but appearing much younger thanks to the hip and stylish clothes he had on. He had one hand in his pocket and an iPhone in the other that he kept looking at. Oh yeah, I thought, this guy was the usurper. I was sure of it. He had a look about him that he didn’t think he even had to pick a number, let alone wait in line. He was already trying to slyly move closer and closer to the counter so he could pounce as soon as the little old lady finished. Mr. Baseball cap gave me a look like he was asking, “What do we do?” I shot back a “How the heck do I know” look and knew right then and there that neither of us would do anything.

It’s sad, because I wanted to grab Mr. iPhone and shake him violently and yell at him that he had to pick a number and wait like the rest of us. I wanted to shout at him that he was what was wrong with society today. That we as human beings can never move forward in the universe when there were people like him who didn’t take a number and wait in line at the deli counter like everyone else. I wanted to take his iPhone and smash it on the dirty tile floor and teach him a lesson that not everything was supposed to be instant like the messages on his phone and that there was no instant gratification at the deli counter. There never has been and there never will be, so he better get used to it. We were meant to wait for some things in life, and deli meats and cheeses were right up there at the top of the list. If he didn’t want to wait then he better march himself right over to the pre-packaged lunchmeat isle and make due with what he found there.

The little old lady was finally finished with her order. She thanked the soon to be rock star and went on her way. The wannabe comedian went over to flip the switch to move the digital counter forward to 98. This was the moment of truth for Mr. Baseball cap. He shuffled apprehensively and looked down at his ticket and then at Mr. iPhone.

98 flashed on the board and there was a slight pause, it seemed like the earth had stood still for this one moment. Mr. Baseball cap took a step forward, but before he got to the counter, Mr. iPhone stepped in front of him and threw a crumpled up piece of paper into the bucket of used numbers and ordered a pound of sliced chicken. Rock star went to the cabinet and got out the chicken and started slicing it. Wannabe comedian must have noticed the stressful situation we had all been thrust into, because he quickly moved the digital clock forward to 99 and took care of Mr. Baseball cap.

Now I was left alone to worry if someone was going to pop out of an isle somewhere and claim to have 00. For all intents and purposes, I felt like I was next in line. There was no one else waiting for the deli, so hopefully I would be able to just place my order when Mr. Baseball cap had finished.

I had already had enough drama for the day, and I still had the rest of my grocery shopping to do. The deli is only one of the many pitfalls hidden in the seemingly convenient supermarket. There was the crowded produce isle, where everyone puts his or her dirty paws all over all the fruit in search of the perfect apple or the ripest melon. The dairy section is always a mad house, too, especially if there is snow in the forecast. God forbid if a household is without milk during a snow squall. Then there is the rest of the store, with it’s cramped isles and people parking their carts where ever they please so they can run down half the isle to get something. The carts are always parked right in front of the products that you want. There are the families that go around the store bickering about what brands to buy, and the store employees themselves. I swear they wait until the place is hopping busy before they decide to bring out their pallets and U-boats and start re-stocking the shelves.

All in all, the supermarket is an ugly place to be on a Saturday, and my expedition was just beginning at the deli counter. Luckily, Mr. Baseball cap only wanted a half-pound of bologna. The digital counter went from 00 to 01 with no more line jumpers and the wannabe comedian was making light of my order as he sliced my black forest ham.

Mr. iPhone was still standing there, checking his phone and waiting for his order. I was standing right in front of the bucket of used numbers, and I noticed the crumpled up number that Mr. iPhone had thrown in there. Should I check it? I thought to myself. It’s not as if it made any difference, everyone had gotten their orders in and more people had come and were now waiting behind me. Should I really make a big deal out of it? I couldn’t resist, I reached into the bucket and grabbed the crumpled up piece of paper. Mr. iPhone saw me doing this and I could have sworn I saw him stiffen up a little bit. I uncrumpled the paper and looked at it, it was 02.

That son of an unmarried goat! He was a line jumper! He bluffed his way ahead of everyone else and he would have made a clean getaway had it not been for me. I had to do something, but what? I was infuriated, but what could I really do? Challenge him to a duel in the parking lot? That would be cool; I could turn to him, slap him in the face and demand satisfaction. He was looking at me with a sheepish grin on his face. He knew what he did, he knew the supermarket code of ethics and how he had broken them.

The comedian had finished my order, and had already advanced the digital counter forward to 03. The people behind me were getting restless. I was standing in their way as I glared at Mr. Blackberry. I took the crumpled up piece of paper and theatrically threw it back in the bucket and I yelled, “Karma is a bitch!” at Mr. iPhone and I walked away.

I quickly walked down the first isle I came to, looking for my wife. I was afraid that Mr. iPhone might be following me looking for a tussle, and I knew she would protect me.