Anxiety at the Deli Counter

I don't know what it is about men who work behind the deli counter but another one flirted with me this past Friday at Detwiler's Farm Market. With the top of his hair bleached blond under his hairnet, he looked like a kid to me so I'm guessing I am old enough to be his mother. That's not what I want to talk about, though. What I want to talk about is anxiety.

Anxiety at the Deli Counter

One of the repercussions of the car accident that has hung around is anxiety. It makes my skin itch. It makes my heart race. It makes me sweat. I keep it under control as best I can but under certain circumstances it gets the best of me. Standing around with everyone else while waiting for my turn at the deli counter gives me anxiety. I have to gently push my way to the front to pick a number from the dispenser. I fumble around trying to rip off one ticket and end up with two. I don't know where to put the extra one; this dispenser is freestanding and it is mocking me. I lay the ticket on top of it knowing it will probably fall to the ground. Oh, well! Not my problem.

My number is eight. The number lit up on the deli counter display is four. Not too bad. I look around. It isn't that crowded. I find a place to park my cart. Not too far away but not a part of the herd. I'm also claustrophobic. The kid with the hair hands someone their order and they are done. He looks behind and then calls out, "Number five. Number five. NUMBER FIVE. Is anyone NUMBER FIVE? Number five. Number five?" The herd is looking at one another. No one is admitting to be number five. Did five give up and decide not to wait? Does it matter? No one is answering. Move on, please.

Then he calls out, "How about number eight? Is there a number eight?" What!? I'm number eight but I see people standing there waiting that are ahead of me. I look to my right and ask the woman next to me, "How did hego from five to eight?" She just smiles and shakes her head. One of the herd speaks up and offers, "I'm six..."

Great! Let's go people.

Another deli person looks at the number on the counter and asks,"Number five. Number five?" I look at the counter and see that blond hair never updated it. A man that has been silent this whole time says,"I was number five but I am being waited on already."

Oh My God

He decides to speak up now instead of a few minutes ago? I looked at him incredulously. The deli girl updates the number to five. "Six. Number six!" Six speaks up and we are ready move on to seven. The counter is updated again. 

While this is going on I am getting a headache. I feel adrenaline rushing through my bloodstream. The lady that had number seven puts in her order and walks back to her cart to the left of me. I turn to her and admit I have so much anxiety right now. She smiles and says, "Imagine having number seven. He went from five to eight! I wondered if I would be waited on at all or left standing here." 

Sure. It could be worse. It could always be worse.

It is finally my turn and it is the bleached blond guy. "Hello, Sweetie. What can I get you today?" My voice shakes when I tell him. I can hear it. What the hell. I have to get a grip. His overt flirting is embarrassing.

Earlier in the day I was at our company's holiday brunch. I was having a great time up until the point when it was announced that because of the growth we have experienced we were all expected to go up to the front of the room, take the microphone, and talk about ourselves. Bam! My heart jumped in my chest. Eventually it was my turn. I took the mic and spoke into it. I saw the crowd but no faces. I heard their reactions to my words as if I were in a tunnel. I was on autopilot with half of my brain sitting in the copilot's seat and the other half curled up under the bed hiding.

I used to get nervous but never like this. All that extrovert behavior that visited me after the accident packed up its shit leaving behind the one thing that didn't fit in its suitcase. 

 

 

.

You say bologna, I say....bologna.

It was last week when I walked into the grocery store. Have you noticed a lot of my stories involve grocery stores?! Anyway, I walked through the produce section stopping only to see what was on sale. I had a short list and didn't want to make a day trip out of it.

I normally don't buy deli meats because they are so expensive but this time I slowed down to look at the glass deli case display. I don't know if you have ever eaten turkey pastrami but it's a nice change of pace and a half pound is doable. Much less fat than regular but basically the same great taste. I slowed my cart to a stop and looked around for the deli person. From my right down at the bakery a woman yelled to me that she would be with me in a minute. I yelled back, "Okay," hopefully relating with my tone that I wasn't in a hurry. I could wait.

I perused the rest of my deli options and noticed the German bologna. Hm. It wasn't expensive, either.

All of a sudden a man was on the other side of the counter. He scared me for a second because I was expecting the woman to show up from my right. He smiled and I noticed he was missing a couple of his teeth. "What can I get you, Ma'am?" There was something about him that was attractive because his aura, being, self, soul was kind. Have you ever met someone and immediately knew they were a nice person? "Do you know what you want?"

I smiled back. "Yes. A half pound of the turkey pastrami sliced thin, please."

"A half pound?"

"Yes. A half pound."

He walked around looking for the package of meat. I've always wondered what the other side of the deli case looked like. The counter person never pulls the package you see through the glass. Are meats thrown haphazardly? Are they in the same order as we view? He was looking around for what seemed like an unusually long time. I thought this guy was going to have to walk down the street to find the turkey pastrami. "A half a pound, right?"

"Yes. That's right." Me not being very nice myself, I thought, "Ask me again."

Once he found the loaf, he walked over to the slicer, ran the hunk of meat through once, and presented to me the example. Upon handing me the slice on the deli paper I told him, "That's good. Thanks."

Smiling, he walked back to the slicer. I was left holding the slice so I ate it. I wasn't all that hungry but I didn't want to insult him. Now I had the piece of paper. I balled it up as I looked around for a garbage receptacle. No such luck so I stuffed it in my jean's pocket and hoped I would remember to throw it out at home.

Walking over, he handed me the pastrami. "Anything else today?"

"Thank you. Yes. A half pound of the Wunderbar® German Bologna, please."

"Excellent choice! It is the best German bologna around."

I felt like he just approved my wine choice! I didn't know what to say. "Oh! Great!" What I was  thinking was that I picked it because it was the least expensive available and I hoped it didn't have ingredients, had I known what they were, that I would really not want to eat.

Following his routine, he came back to the counter and handed me not one but two slices of bologna on a piece of paper. Seeing this deli anomaly, I looked up at him. Did he know he did this? He read my face, nodded and smiled. "Thank you," I said. 

All of this was starting to feel different. He turned back to the slicer. Now I had to eat two slices of bologna and I was definitely not hungry. He was being so kind I couldn't insult him so I took one of the slices and started eating it slowly. I really wished there was a trash receptacle of some kind  nearby but I still didn't spy one.

He was back at the counter sooner than expected. Handing over the package of bologna to me, we smiled at each other and I thanked him. He said, "You come in anytime. I will be here and feed you."

So! There was that.

Did I look like I needed that kind of charity? 

I'm sure all of you people that are good with quick snappy replies could think of any number of things to say in response. I, on the other hand, am not good at that. My mother is the Queen of funny retorts. Too bad I didn't inherit that talent from her like my sister, Eve, did.

I think I just nodded and said, "Thank you." I can't remember! 

I walked away from the deli counter still holding once slice of bologna in my hand. Shit. Now I have to walk around grocery shopping while holding it or effing eat it.....which I did.