Deli, Done

Twenty-years, half a pound of this quarter pound of that.  Small containter of potato salad, large container of pasta salad. 

The not so kind, “What do you mean you’re out. Im going to complain. That’s the only reason why I came” – with a basket full of other groceries.

“I said thin slice!” Pretend to adjust the blade, show them the same slice “that’s better” – the assholes.

Pushed by an ego maniac – the department manager – and the encouragement of a woman introduced to me by the universe at my brother’s wedding, now my girlfriend, I will be clocking in to work the deli for the last time. 

Might end up covering a shift here and there, but it’s okay, they know that with the deli I am done.