Sunday, November 20, 2005
The Fancy-Schmancy Deli
Harry was walking down Regent Street and stepped into a posh gourmet food shop. An impressive salesperson in a smart morning coat with tails approached him and politely asked, "May I help you, Sir?"
"Yes," replied Harry, "I would like to buy a pound of lox."
"No, no," responded the dignified salesperson, "You mean smoked salmon."
"OK, a pound of smoked salmon, then."
"Anything else?"
"Yes, a dozen blintzes."
"No. No. You mean crêpes."
"Okay, a dozen crêpes."
"Anything else?"
"Yes. A pound of chopped liver."
"I'm sorry, Sir. You mean paté."
"Okay," said Harry, "A pound of paté then, and I'd like you to deliver all of this to my house on Saturday."
"Now, see here, Sir," retorted the indignant salesperson, "we don't schlep on Shabbos!"
[A tip o' th' yarmulke to Irwin Weitz!]
"Yes," replied Harry, "I would like to buy a pound of lox."
"No, no," responded the dignified salesperson, "You mean smoked salmon."
"OK, a pound of smoked salmon, then."
"Anything else?"
"Yes, a dozen blintzes."
"No. No. You mean crêpes."
"Okay, a dozen crêpes."
"Anything else?"
"Yes. A pound of chopped liver."
"I'm sorry, Sir. You mean paté."
"Okay," said Harry, "A pound of paté then, and I'd like you to deliver all of this to my house on Saturday."
"Now, see here, Sir," retorted the indignant salesperson, "we don't schlep on Shabbos!"
[A tip o' th' yarmulke to Irwin Weitz!]
