Witz Pickz: Insanely Rude Yet Competent Sandwhich Maker

Grocery stores are not known for their sandwhiches (actually, maybe they are...crap).

Grocery stores might not be known for their sandwhiches (nice save, Witz), and I once laughed in my girlfriend's face when she suggested we get a sandwhich from Safeway because "they're sooo good", but now it is her laughing in my face as well as somewhat larger stomach (Last laugh = Me) because they really are "Soooo good!"

The thing is, at the particular Safeway that we go to, the sandwhich makers are the slowest people I have ever seen in my entire life. They slowly saunter from the counter to the bread basket to the counter again, each movement like the world is wearing them down (which I don't doubt it is-- I mean, you work the deli/chinese food/sandwhich counter at Safeway, but it's your job, so try and work with me here). When I order my fantabulous "California Dreamin'" sandwhich-- turkey, bacon, herbed cream cheese, guacamole, lettuce, and tomato on some soft but crispy tuscan bread-- it takes them minutes to simply find and cut the bread. Then there are minutes of searching for the turkey. Pondering over the bacon. Meandering hands to the lettuce and tomato, and I have never seen anyone spread anything, ANY-THING, slower than these people spread the cream cheese and guacamole. It is lobotomized service. There is a high turnover rate. I can understand not knowing how to make the sandwhich so that slows things down, but the turtilion (cool new word maybe?) speed of the actual individual functions has put the purchasing of these sandwhiches in question by the two of us. And then last Saturday happened.

I go it alone and walk over to the counter. It's about noon. I see one woman with a hat on finishing up a sandwhich and standing in the sandwhich section. I take a deep breath, preparing for the eternity, and walk up to the counter. The woman stares at me. "What," she offers annoyed.

"Hi, I need to get two sandwhiches actually."
"From over there?" she gestures towards the pre-made sandwhich section, every inch of her annoyed.
"Um, no, preferably from you," here...and the counter...where I have approached with intent to purchase...
"What do you want?"
"A 6 inch California Dreamin' and a 6 inch Classic Sandwhich with Salami on multi-grain."
"Classic Salami? What is that-- I don't know what that is." Total disgust.
"It's your "Classic Sandwhich" with salami..."
"Fine," she spews my way and turns back to the bread. "What kind of bread?"
"Multi-Grain." She zips to get it and gets back.
"Meat?"
"...Salami..."
She looks around and huffs. "We don't have salami I don't think. We have-- we have salami and ham." At this point she has truly defeated me.
"Isn't this a deli?"
"I have salami and ham."
"Ok?" Before I can put together how nuts this is, she is ready for me again.
"Cheese?"
"Cheddar."
"Do you want CHEESE??"
"I would enjoy cheddar?"
"Mayo and Mustard?"
"No thank you."
"No mayo and mustard?" Incredulous.
"Nope." Per my girlfriend's request.
"Fine. What else."
I tell her and she complies. Not only that, she complies faster than I have ever seen anyone comply. It's great.
"California Dreamin'?"
"Yep," I reply.
"Fine," and she whips it together like a freaking speed demon. Like a speed reader cruisin' through the dictionary. like one of those Rubix Cube solvers who do it in like 5 seconds. Like that kid who beat Super Mario in like 6 minutes. Actually, it was a LOT like that. I stare up at my sandwhiches.
"Here. Take them," she jeers at me and I do, because they are delicious. Even if one does have unwanted ham on it.

I stumble away from the counter having never felt so much confusingly directed disgust and anger in my life. And yet, through every second of the encounter, I have an objection on my tongue that was countered by the shear speed of her work. In a perfect world, I would expect a sandwhich made quickly enough without taking shit for it, but in this world, I'm just happy to get my California Dreamin'. I might even write in an Employee of the Month comment for that lady. The Insanely Rude Yet Competent Sandwhich Maker.

6 Inches Of Heaven,
Witz