(I find the label of the ham I want at the deli counter, but there is no actual meat on display behind it.)

Deli Worker: *standing behind the meat slicer* “Hello! Do you know what you want?”

Me: “I want this [Brand] Black Forest ham, but I don’t see it in the case. Are you out?”

Deli Worker: *she has not yet approached the counter* “Have you made up your mind?”

Me: “Yes. I want [Brand] Black Forest ham; do you have it in stock?”

Deli Worker: “I don’t know. Do you want some?”

Me: “Yes.”

Deli Worker: *steps to the counter, retrieves some ham from below the display area and takes it to the meat slicer* “Do you want it thin for sandwiches?”

Me: “On the thicker side, please.”

Deli Worker: “Thin?”

Me: “Thick.”

Deli Worker: *slices a very thick slice* “How’s this?”

Me: *not wanting to try and refine the size further, lest the conversation continue another five minutes* “It’s fine.”

Deli Worker: “How much would you like?”

Me: “One-third of a pound, please.”

Deli Worker: “Is that point-seven-five?”

Me: “No… It’s point-three-three.”

Deli Worker: “Ha ha. That’s right. I always have trouble with fractions.”

Me: “…”

Deli Worker: *cuts four slices and sets them on the scale, which reads 0.44. Then she goes and cuts two more slices*

Scale: “0.65”

Deli Worker: “How’s that? It’s a bit over.”

Me: “Um, yeah, can you take some off please?”

Deli Worker: *removes one slice, bringing it to 0.54* “How’s that?”

Me: “Still a bit much.”

Deli Worker: *removes another slice* “Are you sure? It’s under point-five.”

Me: “Yes, but I need point-three-three.”

Deli Worker: “Oh! That’s right!” *removes two more slices*

Scale: “0.33”

Me: “Perfect!”

Deli Worker: “Anything else?”

Me: “No, thank you!”

Deli Worker: “Have a great day! There are free samples on the counter; help yourself!”

(The “free samples” consisted of four different deli bags with bar codes ripped off the labels, each containing a 0.5 to 0.75 pounds of meat or cheese. I think I know now what the deli does with the extra slices customers don’t want or need, and I have a clue as to why there were so many that day…)

(I’m eating in a small deli. Behind me, a customer begins to choke. The other customers nearby, some of whom are closer to him than me, simply stop eating to stare. Annoyed that nobody is doing anything to help, I stand, turn, and begin to walk towards him. He notes my irritated expression as I bear down on him and coughs up the food on his own in panic.)

Man: “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine!”

(I watch him silently for a moment longer to make sure. He slides down in his chair with a frightened expression. An employee notices the commotion and arrives.)

Employee: “Is everything all right, sir?”

Me: “I think so. Apparently nobody’s ever heard of the Heimlich.”

Employee: “The Heimlich…?”

(I shrug and sit back down as the confused employee tries to sort out why the man is staring at me like a deer in the headlights.)

(I work at a deli, and for the past month a woman has been coming in and ordering a coffee every day. She is unfailingly polite and friendly, and I begin to look forward to her arrival. One day, she comes in:)

Woman: “Hi, [My Name]. My usual, please?”

Me: “I’m really sorry, [Woman], but the coffee machine is broken. We’re working on fixing it, and it should be fixed by—”

(The woman goes deathly pale, her eyes go as wide as saucers, and she screams at the top of her lungs.)

Woman: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

Me: “[Woman], are you al—”

(She continued screaming like a banshee and dashed out of the deli, screeching and flailing all the while. I never saw her again.)

(In our store, fresh fruit and vegetables are right through the only entrance. The section is quite large and you have to walk several meters through it to reach other parts of the store. My deli counter is at the innermost part of the store itself. A male customer in his thirties comes up to the counter just after opening.)

Me: “Good morning, how may I help you?”

Customer: “Where are your vegetables?”

Me: “Oh, did you mean our frozen vegetables? You can find them in the freezers over in that corner.” *points in the direction of the freezers*

Customer: *suddenly quite irritated* “No, I meant fresh vegetables. Don’t you have any?”

Me: *a bit perplexed* “Uhm, yes we do. They are at the entrance, where you came in.”

Customer: *now angry* “Well, I didn’t see any when I came in! You need to start stocking more vegetables, when people can’t even see where they are!”

Me: *giving up* “Let me just show you…”

(I lead the customer back to the entrance and show him our bulging shelves.)

Me: “Was there anything in particular I could help you find?”

(The customer just stares blankly at me, before hurriedly exiting through the entrance, almost knocking over several entering customers on his way. A bit shocked, I walk back to my counter, where one of my coworkers stands staring towards the entrance.)

Coworker: “Was that guy for real?”

Me: “Yep. It’s going to be one of those days, I guess.”

(I’m slicing meat for a customer. I notice he’s wearing a shirt with a cartoon leprechaun flipping the middle finger and holding a half-empty glass of beer.)

Me: “Nice shirt.”

Customer: “Oh, this? Yeah, I’m Irish, so…”

Me: “I kinda figured.”

Customer: “What about you?”

Me: “Well, my ancestors were mostly German—”

(Suddenly the customer stomps his feet together, stands at attention, and does the Nazi salute.)

Customer: “SIEG HEIL! SIEG HEIL!”

Me: “—Jews. German Jews.”

Customer: “Oh.”