She said it so matter of factly.
No, matter of factly isn’t the right description.
She said it so harshly.
No, that’s not quite right either.
She said it in a tone that said, dude, you’re literally the dumbest person alive. Yeah, that’s about right.
All I did was ask for half a pound of my favorite Swiss cheese at the deli counter of my local grocery store. I had no idea I was about to have to fight a mighty fight to get what I wanted.
“Oh yeah, why is that?” I replied with that smile I smile when I know nothing good is about to come in the conversation.
This particular gal couldn’t have been older than 17. She was a skinny little blonde who apparently considered herself the world’s expert on cheeses.
“Because,” she said smugly. “Swiss cheese is disgusting. You want Muenster.”
Actually, I wanted Swiss. But I didn’t know how to tell her that. With the first two things that had come out of her mouth, I was terrified. I did my best anyway. “I know what I want, and I know what I need. I’ll take the Swiss.”
“Because, I like shredded Swiss cheese on my eggs in the morning.”
“Why? It’s so gross. There are way better cheeses.” She was visibly annoyed that I was so stupid.
I laughed. Was this really happening? “I’m sure there are way better cheeses. For other things. But for me, right now, for what I want, Swiss is the best cheese I can get.”
“Have you ever tried Muenster?” She said? In my memory, she was smacking on her gum as she asked it. I think I just made that up, though, to go with her snotty little I know everything teenager attitude.
“Yep, I’ve tried it. I like it. But I don’t like it on my eggs.”
She groaned. “If that’s what you really want, I’ll get it for you.” I was about to say thank you, but she wasn’t done. “I just think you should sample a few other cheeses before you decide.”
“I want Swiss. Will you please give me the Swiss?”
“Fine. Hold on.” Then she didn’t grab the Swiss. Instead she disappeared around an open doorway.