Craftwhack

I will tell you of my arch enemy. Her name is Myrna and she works at the deli counter. I don’t know if Myrna is actually her name, because they don’t wear name tags behind the deli counter, but I have assigned that moniker based on her wretchedness.

Myrna hovers behind the giant meat slicers, pretending she is busy tending to her business, but I know she is plotting and scheming. I wasn’t born yesterday, folks. I’m aware of the lengths to which Myrna will go to gain deli counter immortality. She may think I’m just another frazzled mom, declaring my desire for thinly sliced turkey breast, but what she doesn’t realize- what she fails to take into consideration, is that I am on to her. I understand her wicked ways.

Let me explain. Nowadays, ever since the grocery store underwent a complete remodel, my half pound of meat has turned into .52 lb, or more often, .54 lb. These ladies of the deli counter have obviously been instructed to pad the meat bags. This would be forgivable in most instances- I can handle a little extra turkey from time to time, but I draw the line when Myrna goes above and beyond throwing an extra slice or two in.

One week, I announced my half pound turkey order, loud and clear, and was handed back a bag brimming with an entire pound of sliced bird. Oh no. No you don’t, you deceitful, cunning crone. I will not be duped into paying for twice the amount of lunch product requested. Tell me, who’s paying for the store’s remodel, Myrna? I see how you try to push the cheeses and “salads” on everyone. Nobody wants that fucking Ambrosia. And we can all see the crust forming on the broccoli slaw.

I mourn the days when a woman could order a half pound of turkey and receive a half pound of turkey. Net weight .50 lb on the label. That was when you could trust your grocery employees- engage in a little side banter while the slicing machine does its job. When a jovial little call to “keep your hand off the scale” was met with chortles instead of nervous side glances.

No thank you very much, lady. My eyes are trained on you through my entire deli visit. My mind is sharp and my hackles are raised. Oh yeah, and Myrna? I’ll get my sides elsewhere.