Slice of life at the grocery deli: I passed a test

About once a week now since I’ve started back shopping, I’ve had a craving for fried chicken tenders from the deli at the grocery store I go to a lot. In fact, I’ve been going to this same store pretty regularly since about 1998. So it’s an old friend. I used to hardly ever go to the deli since I’m not too big on sub sandwiches, cold cuts, cheeses and the like, but their hot bar with friend chicken and tenders, spicy chicken wings, and various sides such as mac and cheese, collards and okra has always been tempting.

A few days ago I popped in there, one of the few people still wearing a mask, unbelievably, and went to the deli first thing after passing up mini key lime pies, cinnamon buns and the like in the store’s bakery section . I was determined to get chicken tenders, however. This represents one of the last barriers I have to conquer on my way to becoming vegan. I’ve done away with eating beef, pork, and most dairy products. But fried chicken has always been my favorite food. Mom used to fry the best I had ever eaten (in Crisco, of course). I hadn’t had any in at least a year and a half, and it just got the better of me.

There were only two people ahead of me in line so I thought this shouldn’t be too bad. Unfortunately, I forgot that the sweet little old lady behind the glass counter with all that delicious, steaming hot food, is often the only one working that section of the deli since apparently they have chronic staffing shortages and/or turnover there. I’ve talked to her before, and she’s extremely nice and very patient with deli customers who can be exceedingly picky and undecided. I may be wrong, but it seems to me that she’s been there in that same spot for at least as long as I’ve been going there. She’s probably 75-80 at least, and must love the work since surely she could have retired by now. And, oh, she’s glacially slow and deliberate. But am I being a bit judgmental? After all, she’s probably not that much older than I am. Gasp!

To my chagrin, the lady in front of me was apparently ordering dinner for a fussy family. But as soon as I thought she was done and I heard those hopeful words, “Will there be anything else?” she said, “Yes, could you give me a pound of that fried shrimp.” “I’m sorry, we don’t have a pound left,” the deli lady replied, which was obvious from looking at the 7 or 8 shrimp in the tray. “Okay, I’ll take whatever’s left.” There went any idea I might have had of getting any shrimp as I had done last time. “Can I also have a pound of those french fries?” the customer asked next.

It had been a good 10 minutes with this lady ordering, and each time a portion was counted out or packed in a container, the nice deli employee lady would literally disappear for minutes on end weighing and putting price stickers on the bags of hot food. At one point I almost lost my place in line going to the other end of the counter to see if she was actually still there.

Finally, Customer 2 has her turn, and that’s even more glacially, unbearably slow. It’s now going on 20 minutes of waiting, and I’m starting to get a sinking feeling that this is a Twilight Zone episode and something very strange is about to happen next, like more people appear in line ahead of me out of some misty ether wanting all the remaining chicken tenders. I can feel the perspiration forming on my forehead.

But remarkably, the momentary panic subsides, and I realize that instead of racing thoughts and mounting anger and blood pressure at my stupid, dumb luck to get in this situation in the first place, I am as calm and nonchalant as when I first stepped up to the counter. I am unconsciously putting in place Eckhart Tolle’s wise admonition to “Accept this moment as it is.” I can hardly believe this miraculous change that has come over my normally impatient, fidgety self, me who in other times would have long left this slow motion line from you know where. But I’m at peace. I’m intently observing the whole scrnario unfolding before me, with the keen perception of a sociologist doing a study on the extent of human patience in store lines, or any lines, for that matter.

My turn finally arrives, there still some food left, and I place my order non-chalantly, as if that 20-minute wait had been mere seconds. I magined there was a “What, me worry smirkish grin on my face which quickly disappeared as the sweet little old deli counter lady asked what she could get for me.

I thought of telling her I had been meditating all rhat time on the chicken tenders, potato salad and an ice cold glass of limeade that I would soon be enjoying in the comfort of my den.

Was the wait worth it? Turns out, yes it was. I was in a prolonged Zen moment and passed a test in patience I had given myself.

Now in thinking about all this I wonder what Andy Rooney would have said. And will I ever graduate from plain old vegetarian to vegan?