Attending a dinner party Friday night last, someone suggested we trade stories of the strangest incident that happened to us the past week as we headed out to the balcony for digestifs.
One-by-one, we played raconteur. The stories were hilarious, some a bit naughty, a few over-the-top. Laughter permeated the night air, and soon my turn came to be the anecdotist:
Earlier that week, my planned supper was kielbasa (a type of Polish sausage), sauerkraut, and rye bread. All I had at home was the sausage, so a walk to the grocery store was in order.
As I was checking out with a loaf of Jewish rye bread and a bag of sauerkraut, the young male checker asked, “ ‘r’ ya makin’ ribbon sindwitchez?”
“ ‘r’ ya makin’ ribbon sindwitchez?” He smiled largely.
Only understanding the word “makin’,” and not understanding the rest of anything else he was saying, I winged a response.
“Oh, I’m making Polish sausage tonight. Sort of a tradition on Tuesday nights.”
He smiled. I smiled back and wished him a good day.
I strode out of the grocery store.
It was only until I got outside that I realized he was asking if I was making Rueben sandwiches.
©2022, excerpt from “Tales from Yodel-O Land”