Deli Meating

“I’d like a pound of Healthy Choice Oven Roasted Turkey Breast,” I recited. I always got Healthy Choice Oven Roasted Turkey Breast; it was the only deli turkey that I could stomach. Every other brand seemed to have glistening strings of fatty skin dangling from the outer-edge of the slices and an odor oddly reminiscent of fish.
“We don’t carry Healthy Choice Oven Roasted Turkey Breast.”
“Motherfucker,” I cursed inwardly. Or, perhaps, outwardly. The woman behind the refrigerated glass case looked scandalized.
“What do you carry?”
With eyes narrowed, the woman indicated with a curt nod the meats in the case between us. I bent forward to inspect the sliced turkey and found that every visible slice of the Sara Lee Oven Roasted Turkey Breast bore a repulsive and refulgent strip of the dreaded epidermis. Not only that, but it wasn’t sliced nearly thinly enough to be in any way palatable. The slices were thick and appeared be flaking and peeling from dehydration.
“Motherfucker,” I repeated, this time loudly. The woman’s eyes narrowed still further. They were smeary slits of eyeliner and mascara now and no eyes were visible. I was unapologetic. This woman was making a mockery of the sign above her that boasted “FRESH”. Clearly, the rotten bitch was trying to sell me the desiccated and yellowed memoir of turkey sliced that reposed in that refrigerated and transparent mausoleum. I eyed it and decided then and there that I could not and would not accept such foul poultry.
“I’m afraid,” I began, “that the quality of that meat is unacceptable.”
One of her eyebrows went up.
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” I continued in my usual dulcet tones. “Would you be so kind as to slice me some fresh turkey? Very thin? I require my delicatessen meat have a certain delicacy.”
If she had gum in her mouth, she would have popped it. Instead, she turned and opened a refrigerator behind her.
“A pound,” I reminded her, “very thin.”
She glared at me and started slicing.
I watched as several thick slices fell to the plastic under the blade.
Horror crept into my heart.
“Thin,” I reminded her desperately, knowing full well that I could not eat such thickly sliced deli meat.
She stopped her cutting, a piece of turkey that was nearly a quarter of an inch thick dangled from the arrested blade. There was venom in her glare.
“This IS thin.”
“No, you dumb twat, that is THICK!”
“PARDON ME?”
“I’m afraid I cannot pardon such unpardonable thickness, either in you or in the turkey slices!”
I spat my rage onto the already smeared glass of her foul counter and left the store.

True Story.