The Deli Girl

I was at a grocery store where I normally don't shop, and I stopped at the deli for some sandwich fixin's. I asked the Deli Girl for a pound of their best roast beef.

DG: "Which kind did you want?"

MG: "Whichever the good stuff is. I don't know what you call it here." (Mind you, there are no prices or labels anywhere.)

DG: "Well, the expensive stuff is the Angus Roast Beef."

MG: "OK, then I'll take a pound of that."

DG: "Well, we're all out of that."

MG: "OK, then I'll take a pound of whatever is below that."

The long and tedious process of slicing the meat begins. I swear, she weighed every single slice. 10 minutes later, I finally have my roast beast.

DG: "Here you go. Remember, you want to ask for the Angus."

MG: "But you said you're out of it."

DG: "Yeah, we're usually out of it. But that's the one you want."

OK, so I'm remembering why I don't shop here.

MG: "OK. Thanks."

Fast forward a week or two.

MG: "So, what brings you in to the ER tonight?"

DG: "Hey, we got some Angus Roast Beef in this morning."

MG: "Um, OK, did you come in just to tell me that?"

DG: *dumb giggle* "No, um, I have a, um, I, um, have a rash, you know, down there. And I have, um, you know, this um, smelly stuff coming out. "*dumb giggle*

Ew. I can't ever shop there again. Not that I'll miss it, but I just can't go back there now. I'm not even sure she washed my hands before she touched my roast beast. Oh my God. I ate Gonorrhea. Not just any Gonorrhea. A dumb stranger's Gonorrhea. Not that I would like to eat the Clap from someone I know, either. Aw, Jeez.