Owen Proudly Presents: Blog

conorjames:

streeter:

There are two delis close to my office: Green Deli and Trevi Deli.  Most of the staff gets their breakfast and lunch at one of these two places at least one day a week.  There’s a problem, though, they’re both awful in their own little way.

Trevi is the smaller of the two and has a very high order-accuracy rate (I’d say there is an 90% chance they’ll get your order right).  However, when you go to pay you have to deal with what could be the most miserable woman in New York City.  She’s a beast of a woman, sour as a lemon, like a little raincloud coming along to ruin your morning.  She rushes you through the payment process and shouts out your order total before you can add on any extras (like cigarettes).  She’s rude, short-tempered and generally mean.  A Port Authority employee - we share an office building with them - confirmed that it wasn’t just young people she’s a bitch to.

I went to Trevi almost every day for several months, and I feel the most appropriate word to describe the woman behind the counter is “efficient.”  She doesn’t want to be your frend, she wants to give you your food. As someone who has a crippling fear of interacting with anyone he does not know, I admire the hell out of her. She is the soup Nazi divided by a thousand and sans intimidation. I will defend her to the death, and I hope Owen Parsons joins me in this sentiment.

The woman is efficient at register preparation, yes, but she is also a terrible monster in human form. Cawing from beyond her hateful gaze is a rotting flock of devil crows encaged by human skin, trapped there in exchange for some aeons-past grievance against their lord and master Beelzebub. When she sputters forth your sandwich order, you would do well to answer promptly… failing this, you may be found one morning with black feathers stuffed in the gaps where your eyes used to be, a frozen, insane grin plastered across your corpse’s drying face.

That said, you can get a $5 chicken parmesan sub there, crafted by workers who thumb their noses at the limits of the human stomach.  Trevi wins.