John at Stop’n’Shop Lexington, MA
Thanks to this douche, my ‘Easter’ (whatever there was of it) is officially ruined. I’m not sure about any of you reading this, but I can say that sometimes my host family (as much as I love them) buy some weird things at the grocery store. I mean, I’m sure that there are weird things that I like to buy at the grocery store and eat (my host mom recently found a can of ‘sliced beets’ in the cupboard, and questioned me about it. I thought it was like Australian beetroot. Turns out it is, minus the flavor, since it doesn’t have any sugar or vinegar or anything else tasty in it… but anyway, moving on). We all do it. We all have weird things we like.
Like, this one time, my host dad bought bison hotdogs. I didn’t even know what a bison was, I had to google it. And then was kind of grossed out. And then, my host mom and I laughed together, as I regaled her with stories of how I cooked them for the kids and they happily ate them, none the wiser.
And, so, my host family like deli meat and sliced cheese, as do I, although our preferences differ. They are happy to buy the pre-sliced, pre-packaged, sometimes-slightly-overprocessed kinds, where as I am a bit of a deli-meat snob, and will usually only eat deli meat that I choose and see them slice as I buy it. And I am only really a fan of hard cheese – particularly sharp, crumbly white (not orange!) cheddar. Put a piece of any type of processed cheese in front of me, and it’s likely I will gag. Unless, it is melted into a grilled cheese (panfried, with salted butter) and I am in a “plastic grilled cheese” kind of mood. But I have to be in the mood.
So, it’s 5:30pm on Easter Sunday. I’ve spent all day locked up in my room, hiding from the world because American Easter is nothing like Australian Easter, and I don’t really feel like getting out and being social when I’m homesick and feeling terribly anti-social. My host family leaves to go to Easter dinner, and I decide that, since I haven’t eaten all day, I want to go to the grocery store, buy some ham and cheese (because after inpection, the cheese in the fridge, although cheddar, is a little too processed for my liking), and a bottle of bubble bath, come home, make a sandwich and take a bath. Simple enough, but it had possibility to semi-recover my pretty lame Easter.
That is, until I get to Stop’n’Shop and see the big sign on the door that they are closing at 6pm. I look at my watch and it’s 5:49. Perfect. I still have 11 minutes to grab what I need.
WRONG. The deli counter is literally inside the front door of the store. You walk in, and there you are. I walk up to it. And then John proceeds to tell me that they are closing in 10 minutes, that he still has 3 orders to do (even though there are 2 other people working in the deli, doing a who lot of not much) and that by the time he has filled those orders it will be 6pm. I tell him that I’ve just driven 15 minutes (maybe a slight exaggeration, but it was at least 10) to buy 4 slices of cheese. 4 SLICES. He just looks at me and says sorry.
So I walk away, angry, to look for bubble bath. I can’t find any that doesn’t come in a 2l bottle. Seriously? And I’m not prepared to shell out $6 for a 2l bottle of bubble bath that I’ll probably never use again.
So I wander back to the fruit section, to find some raisins that I spied on my way in, and I see the deli counter empty of customers. And it’s 5:55pm. And then, a man steps up to the deli counter, and John tells him that he can’t sell him anything. And this mans asks for some type of sausage, and doesn’t need to be sliced. And John sells it to him.
WHAT THE HECK. I don’t care if it needs to be sliced or not. I don’t care if you think you don’t have enough time to slice my 4 slices of cheese before 6pm or not. As far as I am concerned, if you store sign says it is open until 6pm, and I walk in the door at 5:58pm, I expect someone to slice my fricken cheese for me and let me be on my way. The checkouts were all at least 2 people deep, so it wasn’t like slicing me quarter of a pound of Boars Head Sharp Cheddar was going to hold up the checkout girls.
What happened to you John? What happened to you that made your become a hard-ass deli meat slicing nazi, ruining innocent peoples Easters?
All props for the title of this post have to go to Jen over at http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/ – she throat punches regularly, and I am a huge fan of hers. I had an idea to write a post of a few “mini-punches”, as she calls them, of things that have been getting on my nerves lately, but after my run in with “John” (his real name, according to his nametag) today, I was so fired up that I had to give John his own post. Go and visit her site. You won’t regret it. Just make sure you are wearing your Depends if you have a problem with peeing yourself while laughing. Because you will laugh. Hard.
Also, while I’m here, I’m not a violent person. I can honestly say that there is not a high chance of me actually punching someone in the throat. Just to put it out there.