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Saturday night in cheese
Feb. 28th, 2008 09:29 amIt was the slow finish of a Saturday night behind the cheese counter. People were home avoiding the weather or already gearing up for their evening plans. I was starting to do some end-of-the-night cleaning tasks when my co-worker walked up.
She had just come in to shop so she had no identifying store markings on her. She wasn’t splattered with food, bulk flour dust, or customer spittle like the rest of us on the end of a Saturday night. She didn’t look like she worked there.
We talked cheese. I told her about the Winnimere* that just came in for the season and was perfect, about the Australian marinated feta that I had a sample of, about the Truffle Tremor that was on sale. When she decided what to get, she held up a big piece. “Can you cut this in half. It’s just me at home now.”
This is a common request that we always grant. I guess a lot of other stores don’t because people always seem really grateful. Now that I’m older and less cute I get less of this, but sometimes this becomes a way for customers to advertise their availability, either to me and my co-workers or to other customers. “I really wish I had someone to share this with”, “It’s just me at home, that’s the way it’s gonna be I guess (sigh)”, and “Since I became single I can’t buy as much cheese, did I mention that I’m single now?” are all exact quotes from over the counter.
Retail can be a real glimpse into the loneliness of society.
Anyways, when my co-worker (who also is privy to these glimpses) offered me the cheese to cut down I responded, as I so often do, with obnoxiousness. “Ma’am, I will cut that cheese down for you but I don’t get paid to discuss your inability to form a lasting relationship.”
My co-worker laughed hard. It was a loud gaspy laugh. It was a laugh that could be heard far into the next aisle. However, I hadn’t seen the customer on the other side of the Parmigiano Reggiano who heard the entire exchange. She looked horrified, grabbed her basket and headed towards the milk section.
“Hey,” I yelled after her. “It’s ok, she works here!” I couldn’t tell if she heard me.
*It’s an American copy of the Forsterkase that we were all raving about in December. You know, the “like walking through the bacon forrest in fall” cheese
She had just come in to shop so she had no identifying store markings on her. She wasn’t splattered with food, bulk flour dust, or customer spittle like the rest of us on the end of a Saturday night. She didn’t look like she worked there.
We talked cheese. I told her about the Winnimere* that just came in for the season and was perfect, about the Australian marinated feta that I had a sample of, about the Truffle Tremor that was on sale. When she decided what to get, she held up a big piece. “Can you cut this in half. It’s just me at home now.”
This is a common request that we always grant. I guess a lot of other stores don’t because people always seem really grateful. Now that I’m older and less cute I get less of this, but sometimes this becomes a way for customers to advertise their availability, either to me and my co-workers or to other customers. “I really wish I had someone to share this with”, “It’s just me at home, that’s the way it’s gonna be I guess (sigh)”, and “Since I became single I can’t buy as much cheese, did I mention that I’m single now?” are all exact quotes from over the counter.
Retail can be a real glimpse into the loneliness of society.
Anyways, when my co-worker (who also is privy to these glimpses) offered me the cheese to cut down I responded, as I so often do, with obnoxiousness. “Ma’am, I will cut that cheese down for you but I don’t get paid to discuss your inability to form a lasting relationship.”
My co-worker laughed hard. It was a loud gaspy laugh. It was a laugh that could be heard far into the next aisle. However, I hadn’t seen the customer on the other side of the Parmigiano Reggiano who heard the entire exchange. She looked horrified, grabbed her basket and headed towards the milk section.
“Hey,” I yelled after her. “It’s ok, she works here!” I couldn’t tell if she heard me.
*It’s an American copy of the Forsterkase that we were all raving about in December. You know, the “like walking through the bacon forrest in fall” cheese
