No Pickles

I randomly met up with a group of Californians and two Polish girls who worked at the tourist information booth. The Polish girls wanted to take us to a local sandwich place that was apparently the best bargain food in town, so, being the poor backpackers that we were and resolved not to spend another night eating kielbasa, we decided to go along.

We arrived at a small kiosk set up in the middle of a tiny piazza. The kiosk was unremarkable except for the fact that there was a huge line of young Polish people standing outside. After waiting in line for almost half an hour, I arrived at the window and ordered a sandwich, emphasizing the fact that I didn't want any pickles in the little Polish that I knew. No sooner had I said this did a hushed silence fall over the line of people behind me.

"No pickles?" he asked, incredulous. He turned around and consulted with the cooks, as if to make sure such an arrangement were theoretically possible.

"No pickles" I responded, standing my ground against all things green and briny.

The crowd stared at me in disbelief and started saying things in Polish which, although I couldn't understand, probably translated into something like "Dumb American". I turned to my two Polish friends for help, but they were too busy laughing and pretending not to know me.

After a few more interminable minutes of standing in line, I finally got my sandwich, no pickles.