Are you a vegan?

First off, I am not officially a vegan. I can't claim the title, even if I do eat a mostly vegan diet because at any time, if you open my fridge, you will find eggs, yogurt, and sheep's milk. I'm a lactose-intolerant vegetarian. I often teeter on the edge of crossing that line--my body seems to be telling me to make the leap by rejecting most processed dairy products anyway. But so far, I still hold on to that feta and yogurt. Oh, how I love greek yogurt! And it's good for me!

Anyway, that is just to explain the conundrum which occurs when people notice my mostly vegan diet and ask, "Are you vegan?" Being an avid over-discloser, I promptly explain that I am a vegetarian and also lactose intolerant.

Every Monday night, I attend this new-agey self-help group in a neighborhood far away from my regular Saint Paul co-op. I have adopted a ritual of stopping in at the unfamiliar co-op in that neighborhood and hanging around the deli, often ordering something which happens to be vegan, before going on my merry way to my group. The same guy is always behind the counter.

This week, I ordered a sandwich with hummus and vegan cheez. (I don't even like fake cheese. I only ordered it because I felt like if I was going to pay to have someone make me a sandwich that I could have made myself, I might as well "cheez" it up as much as possible.)

So I wrote down my order and handed it to the Deli Guy, who was by now familiar to me but with whom I had never really exchanged conversation.

A few minutes later, Deli Guy came out from behind the deli counter with my sandwich in hand. He gave it to me and asked, "Hey, are you a vegan?"

Because we had never had any personal interaction, I assumed this was about business. I figured there was a trace of butter in the something-or-other and he was making sure I knew what I was eating. Eager to reassure the Deli Guy that I can, yes, eat a trace of butter, I said, with a wave of my hand, "Vegan? Me? Oh, no, I'm not."

Shifting from one leg to the other to support the basket of things I was about to purchase, I was suddenly awkwardly aware of the vegan nature of every single item I was carrying. What's that? Vegan bakery? Oh, and that? Meat-free, dairy-free Amy's pizza? Rice milk? Vegan kimchi? A sandwich with cheez? And are those vegan Earth shoes?! I felt like I had been caught, red-handed (to use a very non-vegan expression, ugh, yuck, don't think about it too much), with a basketful of tell-tale vegan products and a blunt denial. I mean, it's true; I'm not a vegan. But I felt silly standing there, like a poster-girl for vegan shopping and denouncing the title.

So I quickly explained with a sheepish smile, "I am lactose intolerant," and then I turned and walked away.

At this point, I realized that Deli Guy had not been asking for business purposes. He may have been striking up a conversation with me, which I abruptly had struck right down.

In fact, I began to consider the other factors of the question: he had walked out from behind the counter to personally hand me my sandwich, rather than just handing it to me over the deli case, like usual, and then had asked me a very personal question. I am quite obtuse when it comes to the murky waters of heterosexual flirting, but, could he have been flirting with me?

I considered this for a moment, then shook it off and proceeded to the checkout.

Suddenly, Deli Guy appeared behind me. "Hey, I'm so sorry, but I totally forgot to put the 'Cheez' on your sandwich," he said, making finger-quotation marks when he said "cheez."

"Oh, it's okay," I said. (Remember, I don't really like Cheez anyway.)

"No, seriously, it will take me 30 seconds," he said.

"Um, okay. Thanks," I said, handing him back the sandwich.

I bought my other things and then waited for him to come back. I still felt silly about blurting out my lactose intolerance and running away. I spent a good sixty seconds, at least, re-playing the events of the deli counter over in my head, trying to figure out what meaning to take from the whole interaction.

Deli Guy reappeared, Cheez-laden sandwich in hand. He gave it to me and said, "Liz, have a great day. I'll see you next week."

"Uh, thanks," I stammered. I took the sandwich and quickly walked out the door, thinking immediately that I should have politely asked him for his name, but I didn't. He knew my name, and he remembered that I come in every Monday. I felt like the most awkward, or rude, person ever as I carried my groceries to my car.

This guy knows my name, one part of my weekly schedule, and that I am lactose intolerant and choose to eat vegan foods most of the time. That's a lot to know about me!

Unfortunately, he doesn't yet know I am a lesbian.