10-1993 / Pamfletti Pastels-Stereolab-Bob zine / Paul's Deli

Paul'deli
By Aggi

It was a delicatessen not even in name. I only found out Paul's hopeful plan when I quizzed him on his lack of shop-sign, lack of regular opening hours and other usual shop sort of things. For, no sumptuous gateaux did he offer, no exotic array of cheeses with vine leaves casually strewn, no hot crusty loaves or tempting fancies… If it was treats you were after, Paul could boast :- Carr's water biscuits; a range of tinned soups; half a jar of crystallised honey (offered as a bit of a bargain as an alternative to peanut butter : "Er, well, no… but I do have half a jar of honey - it's a bit crystallised"), and a couple of loaves purchased from Ma Brown's on his way to work. That was Paul's fayre.
In his heyday he bought a large cheese for his otherwise empty Refrigerated Display, and spent the next few days cutting it into small pieces in an attempt to look busy - it made a change from washing his hands. For days after, an elastoplasted forefinger was sore evidence of a lack of experience in that area. Where his experience really lay was a mystery. With his Prince Charlesley bearing he seemed to be only dabbling in the deli business. Perhaps he saw himself as cut from better cloth than a grocer's apron.
"I see," I said, "So you're not really thinking of getting a sign."
"Oh, you mean something like 'Paul's Deli'?"
"Yes, that'd be good, then you could maybe have a bit saying what you sell and stuff. Maybe you'd get some customers in…" He looked a bit defeated, but still slightly amused at his own failings.
"Well, I wouldn't like to promise anything in case I couldn't, well, get it together."
After that, I knew what we were dealing with, me, Stephen and Katrina, his main customers. But it was no wonder - Paul's over-eagerness was rather off-putting. A passing glance in the window, a peep from a passing bus, or a shifty look from across the street would always result in instant eye contact. Wether Paul was blocking the door, trying to assume the air of successful laissez-faire, or at the back of the shop washing his hands, again, he would be sure to catch your eye.
The shop door itself was a challenge to browsers - it would stick half-way and then suddenly fly open making it impossible to make anything but a slaptstick-style comic entrance, always under Paul's amused eye. He was just delighted to have a customer, no matter how unstylishly they arrived. Katrina once spotted him watching as a frail but intrepid old dear battled with the door. Practical assistance was not forthcoming but he vigorously mimed a pushing action and happily applauded her eventual entrance.
We did like to patronise Paul, in his Deli, but it was best not to have something specific in mind as it would lead to disappointment all round.
"Have you got any egg pasta?"
Paul's hopeful, here-to-serve expression would give way to one of despondency and then, inspiration; "No, but I do have… some eggs."
A month later I might stumble in for something else and Paul would gleefully grasp a packet of egg pastat and hold it up, victorious. Such hard-sell tactics would usually result in a sale - it was too sad to think of that packet with my name on it gathering dust - and then Paul could cheerfully shut up shop knowing it had been a full day without too much handwashing.
On those long lonely days at the sink, how he must have longed for his nightly routine of lowering the venetian blind and sticking a crumpled bin bag over the door by way of a security measure.
One afternoon, surprised to see the blind half up and bin bag still stuck I struggled inside to see what was up.
"You're open, then?" I doubted.
"Oh… yes… you'd be surprised," he smiled wryly over the Ryvita. Apparently this new approach was fairly drawing them in.
Soon, though, the blind was rarely raised at all and Paul would be sighted mooching about town in a rusting sports car, or tucking nonchalantly into a three-course meal in a respectable West End eaterie. Decline was rapid, Paul's Deli, a lesson in under-achievement, was up for sale.
A bit sad really.