The other day, a short elderly lady with a cute, but very wrinkly face, asked me to slice her a half a pound of cooked ham.
"Any preference on how that is sliced?"
"Very thin."
I told her, "I'll do my best," looking straight into her blue eyes.
She smiled.
"If you don't, I tell you what the hell is wrong with you!"
I cut each slice extra thick on purpose and moved it onto the scale.
She shook her head, pulled a pillow out of her purse, placed it on the counter of the deli case, and told me, in a reassuring voice, to "relax, lie down, and make yourself comfortable."
And I did.
She proceeded to inform me of all my chemical imbalances and psychological deficiencies, as I explained my past and present staring into the stained drop ceiling.
I got up, bagged her half pound of extra thick cooked ham, slapped the price sticker on it, handed her the bag, and she walked away, pissed, towards the bread aisle.
We really shared a moment together.
And I'll never forget it.
Honestly.
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