Thursday, July 24, 2008

...and I like muenster.

Today at work, I decided that I would cook dinner and dessert for myself.  I haven't really cooked at all since efy and I wanted to try something different.  I set my mind on ham and mozzarella quesadillas and an ice cream cake.  The ice cream cake was relatively simple compared to the quesadillas; at least, in buying the ingredients.  

I had never gone up to a deli counter and ordered anything.  Something feels so grown-up about going up to a counter and saying "I would like ______ of _________, please".  I got a starbucks quadruplechocolateoverloadfrappacapplatte or whatever its called and waltzed up to the deli counter at Kroger.  At this point, i feel confident and very adult.  That soon faded.  There were like five people behind the counter and no one would make eye contact with me.  I may have cleared my throat a little, in a minute effort to gain attention.  Finally, someone offered to help me.  I said, "Could I please have a pound of mozzarella and a half pound of ham?" 

Blank stare.

Clear throat again.  "A pound of mozzarella and a half pound of ham?"


Deli attendant: "You want what and ham?" 

Really?  Mozzarella?


 At this point, there are TWO imbeciles helping me, and neither of them seem to understand Italian.  The two of them look around the cheeses and the lady said something to the effect of "We do not have mozzarella.  Will this do?"  She held up some pepper jack bizznaz.  "NO!  That is not even in the same cheese family as mozzarella!"  I screamed in my head.  I smiled politely and said, "No, thank you.  I'll just have the ham, please".  The guy then chuckled and and said, "Yeah, I don't know much about mozzarella.  Only time I eat that is when I order those fried cheese sticks at restaurants".  


1 comment:

Shelley Nicole said...

HA! Thank you so much for the Ellen reference in the title...made me happy and proud and if possible love you more than I already do. So, it would be an interesting/funny study to see how many times-oh say, a week- that we scream something inside our head, but it comes out in some sort of fake politeness to a stranger...or maybe not a stranger.