Antics at a Polish Shop

I have a roommie. He is Chinese. Well, no - not totally. Quasi-Polish...a result of staying for 10 years in Warsaw.

I live in Chicago. According to my European friends, good meat (esp. unalderated bacon) is difficult to find here. So, some of us decided to go meat-hunting akin to the prehistoric times when hirsute men would go out to hunt and the women would stay home and rear the children (haha! kidding...); by chance, we happened to see this little Polish flag from I-55. "Eureka !", exclaimed the Polish-Chinese (I'll refer to him as the 'Dude'); now, I - the supreme connoisseur of meat (ha! never did I have beef and unable to differentiate between the kinds of hog meat found here and good old Cal) trudged along with little hope of finding anything good about the meat there.

Inside. We take the coupon and queue up. When we reach the counter, the Dude thinks it very prudent to speak in Polish. Impressed I was, impressed my other friend (also with us) was. We see him speaking. And speaking. And speaking. While he speaks all the girls/ladies at the counter desert their respective chores and giggle; actually, giggle a lot...... Finally, he stops; expectantly we look up to him and try to understand what variety of hog/kine we shall consume that very night. And the Dude says he knows from where the lady at the counter was - an anticlimax, afterlike 15 minutes of gibberish, he tells us where the lady is from. Well after yet another prolonged spell of gibberish, we finally get the meat.

The meat was good. The trip was worth it. Now we are regulars there. But, the girls/ladies still giggle when they see the Dude and us.