Mrs. Grumpy-Cheese And The Attack Of The Muenster

(I’ve had a rough day and am making my last stop to grab lunch supplies for the week. I’ve already waited patiently — and politely, I might add — at the meat section of the deli counter so a different associate can fix a troublesome scale. Now I need to get some cheese and I am directed to speak to her coworker. The exchange goes as follows.)

Me: “Hi. Can I get a quarter-pound of Muenster? Please and thanks!”

Worker: *sighs and rolls her eyes* “Ugh, seriously? Can you get something else? That’s, like, the hardest cheese to cut.”

Me: *shocked* “Um, yeah? I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s my favorite cheese.”

Worker: *sighs again and turns to slice my order* “Wait, how much?”

Me: “A quarter-pound?”

Worker: *sighs AGAIN* “So, like, what? How do I slice that?”

Me: *mouth slightly hanging open* “Uh, I guess, like, ten or so slices thin cut? How would I know?”

Worker: *grunts at me and turns back around to handle my order*

(I wait awkwardly, still a little shocked at her attitude, until she finally turns around and weighs out my cheese. It comes out well over half a pound, which I mention to her.)

Worker: “Well, what do you want me to do about it? Just buy it; it’s not my problem.”

(She then wrapped up and stickered the cheese, roughly shoving the slices into a bag so they got slightly crushed and mangled, before walking off, presumably on a break. I was left standing there with my mouth agape and her coworker from earlier silently giving me a look of apology as she handled a line of customers. I feel so bad for you, Ms. Nice Deli Meat Lady, having to work with Ms. Grumpy-Cheese all day.)