When I worked at Nisa in St Andrews, I would occassionally cover a mate of mine on the Deli counter if he needed a piss. Therefore, I had fuck all actual experience of how to work the Deli counter, all I knew was not to swear at people and give them the stuff they asked for.
So I'm stood there, picking my belly button and daydreaming about tits when this fucking harridan of an old lady shuffles up to the counter. She looks pissed off before she even starts speaking, so I know this is going to be a shit five minutes. 'Which cake would you recommend?' 'I don't fucking know, this one, it looks less shit than the others.' is what I want to say, but instead I just point at a cake I can only describe as a brown brick. Obviously, you see a brown brick of cake and immediately think 'Well that is a cake that is blatantly stuffed with all kinds of wonderful chocolate shit.' Oh no, not this dumb bitch. 'What's it taste like?' 'Unicorn sperm and Channing Tatum's ball sweat. How the fuck do I know?' (I'm going to stop telling you that my immediate reply is obviously not what I said to her.) 'I don't know madam, but I would hazard a guess that it's chocolate.' 'Are you sure?' 'About as sure as anyone can be of anything in these troubled times.' 'Yes, I'm sure it tastes of chocolate.' 'Hmmmmmm............................Hmmmmmm.....................What about this one?' She points to a yellow brick of cake. 'Regret and memories of the stone age, which you obviously lived through.' 'Lemon.' 'Oh really?' 'Yep, that one is definately a Lemon cake.' Was it fuck, I think it was some kind of vanilla bullshit. 'Hmmmmm.......................Hmmmm..............................I guess I'll take that one then.' 'Alright madam, i'll just get that boxed up for you.'
The boxes on the Deli counter were the definition of wank. If you knew how they went together, happy days you could do it in seconds. If you didn't know how to do them, like me, you just fumbled around with it for a bit, before apologising to the customer and stickering the fucker closed on every side and hoping it didn't burst into flame and explode. 'That's not good enough, can I have another box please?' 'I'VE JUST SPENT TEN MINUTES GETTING THIS FUCKER INTO A VAGUELY BOX LIKE SHAPE. NO, FUCK OFF!' 'Yes of couse madam, two minutes.' After a further ten minutes of box wrangling I end up with one of the sexist boxes I have ever seen, and I went through a box fetish in primary school, so I know my sexy boxes. (That is obviously a total lie.) Slap the price tag sticker on that bad boy and hand it to her. Thank fuck, the nightmare is over.
She looks at the box, looks at me and then says 'Oh, you've put the price on it. You can't put the price on it, it's a gift for a friend.' 'I WILL RIP YOUR EYEBALLS OUT AND SHIT INSIDE YOUR SKULL YOU PICKY BITCH. I DON'T CARE IF YOU RODE A DINOSAUR TO SCHOOL, I'M GOING TO RAM THIS CAKE SO FAR UP YOUR DECREPIT ARSEHOLE YOU'LL PUKE CAKE UNTIL THE DAY YOU DIE, WHICH IS PROBABLY GOING TO BE SOON! RAAAAAAAARRRRRRR!' This evidently showed on my face, as she promptly said 'Actually, on second thought, I'll be alright.'
The End. (Stay tuned for Return of the Cake Lady, although this cake lady is a different woman.)
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