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June 2, 2002 all the young dudes
There is a "Deli" section in the supermarket where I shop. Two Assistant Deli Managers take turns working the counter. I know them only as The White Dude and The Black Dude and, then, only in my head. The Deli Manager is a woman whom, I suspect, was promoted to manager not because of gender, but because she looks smarter than her assistants. Her eyeglasses are as thick as the wheel of Gouda inside the display case.
The White Dude has obviously lost a battle with amphetamine addiction. When he sees me coming--when he sees anybody coming--he practically leaps across the counter to take the order. While he slices and bags and weighs, The White Dude lays down a steady stream of bullshit at speeds usually associated with auctioneers. Our exchange this week was typical:
Me: "I'll have a half pound 'Mesquite Turkey' and a quarter pound 'Big Eye Swiss,' sliced for sandwiches."By the time I leave The White Dude to his frenetic Deli Rap, I've purchased enough meat and cheese to open my own deli.TWD: "The Swiss is on sale, $ 4.99 a pound. hey, man....you like music?"
Me: "Yes, I do. I do like music. How did you know?"
TWD: "Lots of people like music, Bro. You want the full pound or what? Don't want that Mesquite Turkey gettin' lonely."
Me: "Sure, why not.... I'll take a pound."
TWD: "That's the ticket! Whooee! The gentleman will have a pound of Swiss.... NEXT!"
The Black Dude is a different breed all together. When he sees me coming--when he sees anybody coming--he slowly faces the opposite direction and continues with what he was doing, which is to say, he resumes doing nothing. The Black Dude is unmoved by "excuse me" or subtle throat-clearing. Such convention only steels his resolve to avoid eye contact. But when he finally decides to fill an order, it is an experience like no other. Until I encountered The Black Dude, I had no idea Man could move so slowly without decomposing. He moves slower than if he were underwater; The Black Dude works like a Thorazine Zombie living in a sea of Karo syrup. I once fell into a trance watching the slug-like motion of the deli slicer as The Black Dude pushed the blade hypnotically through a block of provolone. On The Black Dude's shift, I only have time for the deli stop.
White, black. Fast, slow. Chatter, silence. There is perfect balance to be found in my supermarket deli.
© 2002 by the beastmaster