Juliet Funt, Founder & Owner, WhiteSpace at Work
My Jewish grandparents lived next door to the K-Street Deli in Brooklyn, where they made a rye bread praised though all the boroughs of New York. Every Friday my grandma sent my grandpa to buy one fresh loaf and all was right with the world. Except for when a certain, sexy Russian sales girl waited on him. Stanley was a timid man—a five foot nothing pharmacist. He would walk into the bakery, the little bell would ding, and he'd say, "I’d like one loaf of ‘dat great rye bread, please." She would thwap open the bag and toss in the bread. Then she’d turn to him, with just a hint of flour on her cleavage, and sensually say, “Vaddelse” (translation: "What else?")