(I’m cleaning out the small cooler in our sandwich station when I come across an uncovered pan of a crusty, dark yellowish-white substance.)
Me: “What the h*** is this?”
Coworker: *looking at it* “That’s mayonnaise.”
Me: “Leftover from whose presidency, Washington’s or Jefferson’s?”
(My coworker is a hard-working older woman with a thick European accent. She is the best worker here, and I look up to how quickly and efficiently she works everyday. She finishes serving a customer at the deli and comes to speak with me.)
Coworker: “I spit in her food.”
Me: “Sorry, did you say you spat in her food…?”
Coworker: *ranting* “Yes. Last week, I ask her if she can wait two minutes for me to finish packaging chicken. She say okay. I serve her, and she act all nice. Then, she go and yells at manager and say I was rude and terrible employee.” *she starts giggling* “So today, I spit in her food!”
Me: “[Coworker], you can’t do that! That’s against health and safety! What if she notices?”
Coworker: *frowning* “Good! She deserve it!” *happily goes to work on other things, leaving me standing in disbelief*
(With my boss nearby I’m disposing of various food items that have passed their expiration date and then make an observation I just had to question.)
Me: “Ham salad. How is ham a salad? What makes it a salad?”
Boss: “…Mayonnaise?”
Me: “This pasta salad has no mayonnaise, yet it too claims to be a salad! When does something become a salad?”
Boss: “With lettuce.”
Me: “But this pasta salad has no lettuce, nor does this chicken salad! Ham salad, pasta salad, caesar salad, watergate salad. How are they all salads?”
Boss: “Because they’re a mixture of ingredients.”
Me: “So, if I put enough ingredients on a pizza, will that become a salad?”
Boss: “…No.”
Me: “So then what is the definition of a salad? What does it mean to be a salad? These are the questions!”
Boss: *nods* “The questions of life.”
(I have a moment to take a sip of my drink before the next customer comes to the counter, so I take it.)
Customer: “You know, you really shouldn’t be drinking that tea. It’s really bad for you.”
Me: “Thanks for the information. How can I help you?”
Customer: “Can I get a pack of USA 100s, non-menthol?”
Me: “I’ll take three squares of lasagna, a large eggplant salad, and that bruschetta.”
Deli Worker: “Three lasagna, large eggplant, bru-shetta.”
Me: “Bruschetta.”
Deli Worker: “Bru-shetta.”
Me: “It’s Italian, not German. ‘C-H’ makes a hard ‘k’ sound.”
Deli Worker: “No, it doesn’t.”
Me: “It does the same thing for ‘g.’ That’s why we pronounce it ‘spaghetti’ instead of ‘spajetti’.”
Deli Worker: “I don’t think it works that way.”
Me: “Aren’t you Italian yourself?”
Deli Worker: “Yes.”
Deli Worker’s Grandmother: *slaps Deli Worker upside the head* “Balordo ragazzo!”
