good-bye dean('s)

I've been buying deli sandwiches from Dean's Market for as long as I can remember. The sandwiches are so big I always ask for them to be cut in half and wrapped separately.  Same exact sandwich, but in two halves. That's my beach-lunch for the next two days.

Dean's been telling people that this has been one of his best summers ever. Fortunately, the store has not been hurt by COVID.

In 2013, I ask Dean if he'd consider selling lobster rolls. And he listens. That summer, for a few weeks, you could buy excellent, well-sized lobster rolls at Dean's. 

He's a strange man. I remember one day joking to my mom that I had made Dean smile. He can be quite dour, but his sandwiches are always great. Really, I've never had a problem in all the years I've been going there.

Until yesterday.

I'm on the beach and open my half sandwich. It's a turkey and swiss cheese sub. Missing are ALL the other ingredients I asked for: mayo, honey mustard, lettuce, pickle, and cucumber. 

The sandwich is dry and unappetizing. But hey, mistakes happen. This story isn't about the mistake; it's about the aftermath of the mistake.

I call and some young kid answers. I tell him the story, and also include my loyalty to Dean's over the years. I ask if he could replace the sandwich.

"I'm really sorry it wasn't exactly as you ordered it, but we've been very busy."

"And?"

"And nothing," he says.

Ignoring his response I say, "And can you make me a new half since the half I still haven't eaten is all wrong."

"No, we won't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because we just don't."

"Well that's not very good customer service. May I speak to Dean please?"

"He's not in. He'll be here tomorrow."

"Okay fine. I'll be in tomorrow. What's your name?"

"I'm not giving you my name. Good-bye. " And he hangs up.

Today I go back to the store and see Dean. I tell him the story that he's obviously already heard. 

"Ya, and what would you like me to do about it?" he asks antagonistically.

"Replace the sandwich. And, talk to that employee about how to speak to customers."

"Well, I"m not doing that."

"But that would be the right thing to do."

"Oh would it now?  First of all, that boy you spoke to yesterday happens to be one of our best employees. And secondly, I can't believe you would even think of asking for a replacement half. You paid for a product; you got a product."

"Yes, but the product I got was not the product I ordered."

And then Dean adds in a syrupy, whiny little girl voice— "Oh, gee, I'm sorry if your sandwich wasn't quite perfect. Get over it."

I am stunned, and say, "I can't believe you're talking to me this way."

"And I can't believe you. You know, you're a pain in the neck. And everyone in the deli counter thinks so too. They still remember all your complaints about the lobster salad." 

First of all, the deli counter is staffed with mostly college kids who turn over every year. And bringing up the lobster roll? The ones I suggested 7 years ago? The ones I loved and complimented him on? The ones he over-ordered and couldn't sell?

And he continues, almost as if he's been waiting for this opportunity.

"You are so difficult. You want half this on one side of the sandwich and half that on the other side."

Now he's just making stuff up. I only ask for the sandwich to be cut in half and wrapped separately — not made differently for each half.

Then finally, as he's walking away, he turns, and says, "We'll miss you," his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I go back to the car and almost cry, feeling like a student whose been unfairly chastised by her teacher.

In retrospect, I shouldn't have said anything. it's only a sandwich. And the deli almost always gets it right.

But it's too late now. I'm sure I'll find other good sandwich places; I'm told West Falmouth Market is excellent.

But I will miss Dean's—the place.

But I will definitely not miss Dean — the person.