Some Customers Really Want A Pound Of Flesh

Twenty years ago, I worked at a deli in a supermarket. There were usually two to five of us working back there as it could be relatively busy depending on the day and time of day.

It was a pretty average day, maybe a little on the slow side, but I recall two women approaching the counter, and as I always did, I put on a decent smile and asked how I could assist.

The two ladies were middle-aged, at my best guess and recollection, and it seemed one of them was there to order and the other was possibly just providing company. The customer spoke to me very politely and gave me a list of about six various lunch meat and cheeses that she needed before turning back to her friend and engaging in conversation.

I’m not sure if she actually told me how much of each item she wanted, as I was repeating all six in my head to make sure I remembered each one. As I was placing the first on the slicer, I decided to walk back to the counter and verify just to be sure.

Me: “Apologies, was that half a pound of everything?”

She only half-turned back to me and muttered an affirmative with an accompanying nod and dismissive flick of her hand while her friend made a little more eye contact with me.

That was enough for me, and I went back to work. I cut each item for the customer one by one and lined them up on the counter for her one by one. I finished slapping the last sticker after weighing the last item.

Me: “Is there anything else I can assist with?”

This is where a fairly normal interaction went a little crazy. She picked up the first one, looked at it, slammed it on the counter, and picked up another to look at it. And then, she started screaming at a volume that could easily be heard across the entire store.

Customer: “I. Said. I. Want. A. Pound. Of. EVERYTHIIIIIIIIIIIIING!”

I was pretty stunned, and I stood there blinking at her for a couple of seconds before I was able to respond.

Me: “I wasn’t sure. I even asked you again before I started slicing.”

Apparently, this wasn’t what she wanted to hear; she got louder and started stamping her feet, repeating over and over that she wanted a pound of everything, and that I had asked her no such thing, while I kind of stood there like a deer in the headlights. The other two I was working with just kind of stared in shocked silence, as well, having little idea about what was going on. There were no other customers, so one of them could have probably been helping me with the order, in retrospect.

I’m fairly fortunate that it didn’t last long. I made a brief eye contact with the other woman again, who tugged on the sleeve of her raving friend.

Friend: “Um… they did just ask you about the quantity, and you said a half-pound was accurate.”

There was an immediate change. This lady at least had the decency to be absolutely mortified by her own behavior. She apologized profusely for the entire duration that it took for me to prepare another half-pound of everything she requested. It was a struggle not to laugh at her during the time it took me to finish the order, mostly out of nervousness and slightly frazzled nerves over the ridiculousness of it all.

She left politely enough, and for the next couple months, it was the running joke of the department that we wanted a “pound of everything.”