Hello. My name is Jamie, and I have intense, fiery Deli Rage.

Let me back up. Neal and I were attempting to assemble something that resembles a meal Wednesday night, and failing miserably. The cupboards were bare, and our stomachs were growling. It was time to grocery shop.

I don't really mind this task, but Thursday night was the first night I had nothing, nothing, nothing to do in a long, long time. I was all psyched to curl up in front of Buffy for a while, and then maybe pop in the copy of Ghost World I'd rented the other day. I didn't want to hang with friends. I didn't want to work out. I just wanted to veg.

I certainly didn't want to have to grocery shop after work.

So I decided I'd do it during lunch. I wrote a list that made Shawn's eyes widen when I coolly informed her I'd be picking a few things up during lunch.

"You're going to get all THAT in an hour?!"

"Baby, you don't know. I'm going to get all that in less than an hour."

And I did. But the deli bitches almost didn't let me make it.

I fucking hate the deli at the Keys Winn Dixie. There, I said it. I hate it, I hate the assholes who work behind it, and I hate the fuckwad managers who won't put said assholes in their place, no matter how many times Neal and I have complained.

First, they always close early. There's a nice big sign both at the front of the store, and by the deli, that says, "DELI CLOSES AT 9 P.M." I can't tell you how many times Neal and I have tried to squeeze in grocery shopping, only to be told at 8 FREAKING 20 P.M. that it was too late for the fuckers behind the counter to slice up some god damned honey mesquite turkey. "We've cleaned the machines already."

Well, UNclean them, dicksmacks! I want a quarter pound of sliced provolone, and I want it tonight, bitch! Since you aren't even supposed to be closed for another HOUR, anyway! God. Neal and I have cornered managers repeatedly and torn any number of new assholes, but to no avail. The Winn Dixie manager is walking around with like 5 different assholes, and I can't get some damn roast beef after 8:15 P.M. It's a fucking shame.

It's not just that they close early. It's that they're so slow, I'm certain the cheese could climb out of the glass case, hop onto the cutting machine, and slice and weigh ITSELF before these jackoffs can get the job done.

One time, I was ordering deli products from a giant woman whose - and I'm not kidding here - TONGUE was actually HANGING OUT OF HER MOUTH the entire time I made my order and she prepared it. She was moving like she was underwater. Two hours later, as she was sealing the ziploc bag (although they never ACTUALLY seal it - they just kind of fold it over, incompetent asswipes), the effort became too much for her. Her right food slid out from under her, and she actually - still in slow motion - fell on her ass behind the counter. It took her another 20 minutes to fall, I swear. I had that terrible experience of watching something bad happen while being completely unable to do anything about it, because there was a fortress of glass and cheese and chicken wings dividing us. I was horrified, and walked away feeling really bad for her. This is the type of thing that happens at the Keys Winn Dixie Deli Counter.

Oh, and rude. Man, do I have a problem with rude service employees. While each time, I'm tempted to tell them that not only is it nice not to loudly GRUNT when I make my order, it's also customary to utter those wacky words "Please" and "Thank You," I find it's much more amusing to use the Kill 'Em With Kindness Approach. I'm kind and sweet and polite, no matter how much the old women act like pre-pubescent assholes. They get that look on their face where you can tell they're trying to get a rise out of me, and I just gaze back, smile politely, and thank them for their service. You can usually see the surprise actually manifesting itself on their faces as they're called back to the world of the civilized... "What foreign concept is this? Manners? Kindness to your fellow man? Why, I think I remember something about The Golden Rule when I attended kindergarten 100 years ago..."

(I also prefer the Kill 'Em With Kindness Approach because I have a powerful fear of service people mutilating my food, and I don't want anyone to hock a loogie into my yellow American.)

Anyway, yesterday, I approached the counter first thing, so I could pick up some other stuff during the small eternity I knew it would take the Deli Crackheads to cut up my turkey. I noticed the clock that used to hang behind the counter had been violently torn from the wall, leaving spots of chipped plaster. Nice. I'd like to think I had something to do with that. There was a shopper lady already in front of the counter, but the deli lady wasn't really doing anything, so I assumed Shopper Lady was still deciding what to order. I stepped up, "Excuse me, I'd like a half pound of - "

And people, the Deli Bitch actually whipped her head around and snapped at me, "ExCUSE me. YOU are going to have to WAIT YOUR TURN."

I blinked, and stepped back. She began slicing something. Oh, silly me. Of course she wouldn't prepare an order without several breaks of doing nothing and staring into space. Then, the Shopper Lady would get her ham within the hour. Can't have that. I grabbed some more of the food on my list, and then came back.

Me: "I'd like a half pound of provolone cheese, please."

Deli Bitch: "I don't know of we have any."

Long pause.

Me: "Well, do you think you could CHECK?"

Deli Bitch: "Grunt."

She went into the back. While I waited, I traded my cranberry juice for prune juice, because I knew I'd be much older by the time she got back. Several decades later, she returned. I hobbled over on my cane to hear her response. She muttered something unintelligible about a cart full of turkey and carts full of cheese out back and some other stuff. She then looked at my list like it was a pile of poo and - no kidding - again SNAPPED, "Do you have any OTHER shopping to do?" like my need for sustenance was personally offending her.

I told her yes, and she recommended I come back later. I kind of desperately asked her if she could cut me up some turkey while I was already there, and she reluctantly agreed.

I finished the rest of the shopping and walked The Green Mile back to the stupid fucking deli. While I was waiting (of course) for service, Shawn showed up to help me load and have lunch at my house.

I never got the provolone, and substituted mozzarella. I explained the depth of my Deli Rage to Shawn while Deli Bitch #2 took her standard eternity to cut some cheese (hee), and weighed it. #2 seemed to be having some trouble with the scale. While I watched her warily, she moseyed around to our side of the counter and began staring at the cheeses. Five minutes later, I leaned over, tapped her on the shoulder, and said quietly, "It's $4.99 a pound."

Shawn dissolved into giggles. I mean, the shit was RIGHT THERE.

I used to get so mad, I'd grocery shop in the evening, and be pissed off all night at the Deli Bitches. Neal finally hesitantly suggested that perhaps I shouldn't be a person who goes to the deli anymore.

I just forgot about that yesterday.

But I vow to you, loyal readers, here and now...

never again.