Chapter 2: The Deli War Erupts

I wasn’t having it.

I smiled, but inside, I was already putting my foot down. My place, my rules. I’d built my reputation from scratch, and I wasn’t about to hand over part of my menu just to keep the peace. Besides, if I gave in now, where would it end?

Noodles and deli meats are a classic combo. Seriously, what’s a noodle bowl without a side of something salty?

Plus, it’s not like I can’t make my own. Heck, why not?

I’d already started experimenting with recipes at home, staying up late in the kitchen with my cousin, trying out spice blends and curing techniques. If anything, Hank’s attitude just pushed me to get better. I was stubborn like that.

Let’s be real—if you weren’t next door, would I even buy from you?

That’s the truth. If I was two blocks down, I wouldn’t think twice about sourcing my own meats. This was just convenience—nothing more. I didn’t owe them a thing.

Honestly, do you know how much you’re charging me? For real, it’s almost like you’re daring me to find a cheaper option.

Their prices weren’t exactly a bargain. Sometimes I’d catch Betty weighing the sausages with her thumb on the scale. It added up, and I started to feel like I was getting fleeced. Once, I swear, she threw in a handful of gristle and called it prime cut.

It’s already pricier than making it myself. Not to mention, it’s just not worth it.

When I ran the numbers, it was clear—buying from them was eating into my profits. I could save a bundle by doing it myself, and maybe even improve the taste. Why wouldn’t I?

And in business, who doesn’t want to make a buck? That’s just how it goes, right? If you’re not making money, what’s the point?

How I price things is my business. You ever hear of free enterprise?

I set my prices based on what folks are willing to pay, not what my neighbor thinks is fair. That’s just how it works. If customers don’t like it, they’ll go somewhere else. That’s capitalism.

If I can sell the same stuff for more, that’s my hustle. That’s how you get ahead, plain and simple.

If I have to cave just because you’re jealous, what’s the point? No one ever got anywhere by letting the competition set the rules. Not happening.

So I turned him down.

I kept it polite, but firm. “Thanks, Hank, but I think I’ll stick with what I’m doing. My cousin’s coming in to help soon, and he’s got some ideas for house-made deli meats. We’ll be making our own from now on.”

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I tried to soften the blow, making it sound like a family thing. “You know how it is—gotta keep the family busy. He’s looking forward to learning the ropes.” No hard feelings, right?

Hank left in a huff.

He didn’t say much—just grunted, shoved his hands in his pockets, and stormed out. I watched him go, feeling a knot in my stomach. I knew things were about to get messy. The air felt heavier after he left.

I figured that was that.

I thought maybe he’d cool off, that we’d just go back to ignoring each other. But I was dead wrong.

But right at lunchtime, Betty rolled in a little cart, hollering, “Sausage, pickled eggs, head cheese, ears, tendon, peanuts! Anyone want some? Cheap and just as good!” She was on a mission.

She barged in like she owned the place, pushing her rickety cart down the aisle, calling out the names of every meat she had. The regulars looked up in surprise, forks halfway to their mouths. It was chaos. I could feel my blood pressure rising.

I was fuming.

My hands clenched at my sides, and I could feel my face getting hot. Never in my life had I seen someone pull a stunt like that—hawking their wares in the middle of my lunch rush. I wanted to throw her out myself, but I knew I had to keep it together in front of the customers. My jaw was tight enough to crack a tooth.

I’ve seen price wars, but never someone hawking their stuff right inside another person’s restaurant. This was beyond petty—this was war. Like setting up a lemonade stand inside a Starbucks. Unbelievable.

“Ma’am, I’m still running a business here. Could you please head back?”

I tried to keep my voice steady, forcing a smile. “Betty, I can’t have you selling in here. Please, take your cart back next door.” My hands were shaking, but I tried to look calm.

I couldn’t lose my cool in front of customers, so I swallowed my anger and tried to talk her down. Deep breath. Count to ten. Smile for the crowd.

I glanced around, trying to gauge the mood. Some folks looked uncomfortable, others were clearly enjoying the show. I took a deep breath and reminded myself to keep it civil. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

But Betty blew up.

She spun on me, her voice rising. “You think you’re so high and mighty? Let’s see how you like it when folks know what you’re really up to!” The drama was just getting started.

She parked her cart in the aisle and started yelling, putting on a whole show.

She made a scene like she was on Judge Judy—raising her voice, waving her arms, and drawing every eye in the place. I felt my ears burning as the room went quiet, all eyes on us. The whole room froze, waiting to see what would happen next.

“Everybody, look here—this young man’s got no conscience!”

She pointed at me, voice cracking. “He’s ripping you all off, selling my meats at double the price!”

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Her words echoed off the tile walls, and a couple customers looked down at their plates, unsure what to believe. The air was thick with tension.

“We’re all just regular folks. It’s not easy making a living. I’m just an old lady—what’s wrong with wanting you all to eat something affordable?”

She played the sympathy card hard, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin, her voice trembling. “I’m just trying to get by, same as everyone else. Is that so wrong?” She let out a shaky sigh, looking around for support.

...

While she was carrying on, Betty started handing out samples of sliced beef tendon and head cheese to every table. The smell was enough to make your eyes water.

She moved from table to table, offering little toothpick samples like she was at Costco on a Saturday morning. “Here, try it! Free samples! See for yourselves!” She was relentless.

“Try it! Isn’t it the same taste?”

She smiled sweetly at a group of high schoolers in the corner. “Go ahead, taste it. Tell me if it’s any different from what he’s selling.”

“Cross my heart, my price is half of his.”

She held up two fingers for emphasis. “Half! You’re paying double for nothing.”

“This morning my husband came to talk to him about not being so greedy. Not only did he ignore us, he even cussed out my husband!”

She turned to the crowd, her voice shaking with indignation. “He’s got no respect for his elders, none at all!” She sniffed dramatically, waiting for someone to back her up.

In the dining room, Betty sobbed and accused me of being heartless, tears and snot everywhere. She kept cursing me, saying I’d die a terrible death for being so greedy.

She crumpled onto a chair, wailing loud enough for folks outside to hear. “Lord, what did we do to deserve this? May karma find him!” Her voice cracked, and I could see the pity—or maybe the discomfort—on my customers’ faces. The whole place felt like it was holding its breath.

In a flash, all the customers put down their forks to watch the drama; some even whipped out their phones to record for TikTok.

A couple teenagers in the back had their phones out, filming the whole thing. I knew it would be online before I could blink. Someone even whispered, “This is better than reality TV.”

I was shaking with anger, couldn’t hold back anymore.

My hands trembled as I tried to steady myself on the counter. I could feel my pulse thumping in my ears. Enough was enough. I wasn’t going to let her run me down in my own shop.

“You old bat, say that again?”

I snapped, my voice sharp. “What did you just call me? You wanna run that by me again?” My patience was gone.

“When did I ever curse out your husband?”

I looked her dead in the eye. “You’re making things up. I never cursed at Hank. Not once.”

“Yeah, I bought your meats to resell—but does it taste the same?”

I gestured to the plates. “You think it’s just about the meat? I put in the work. My customers know the difference.”

“Do you know how much extra work I have to do to doctor up your meats every time you deliver? If you two weren’t older and business wasn’t tough, would I even buy from you?”

I let the words hang in the air, my frustration boiling over. “I’ve been helping you out, not the other way around.”

I was livid and didn’t hold back. I let the customers try the deli meats Betty brought in.