[188] Screed City
[188]
08/27/2022 Saturday. Garbage Room. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.
Farmers Market Week Thirteen:
Like putting on an old shoe or something. I mean, I woke up this morning at 5a. Thought for a second: "Do I usually get up at 5:30a? 5a seems so early." Either way, I got up. Dark as molasses. No lights were functioning in the room ever since Professor Curly moved out. I mean, I spend about maybe two minutes upstairs everyday. Aside from sleeping. I mean, I am there in the morning after my shower. And at night I just hop into bed. I mean, it was kind of frustrating to get up in the dark like that. A little rustic for my tastes, but it was also kind of a nice rustic. Like waking up before dawn to feed the cows or something. I mean, I went downstairs and nuked some coffee, looked at some things. Tried to listen to the comedy politics podcast, but that dude just turned 40 and he is off on some dumb adventure with his obnoxious fiancé. I mean, the last two things have been pure junk or reruns, so I put the Cornfield Resistance on and was glad of it. A couple epic rants from Driftglass made my morning.
I mean, I was ready to go. The things, the Bubbys were in the fridge, so I didn't have to worry about them. I had put the chafing dishes on the counter last night, so those were ready to go, I mean, I ate a little snack, took a look around and waited for 5:30a. Which came soon enough. I preheated the oven and went about the business. I mean, I was on the road by 7:02a. Before I pulled out of the driveway I did a mental check. Sign, sandwich board, tent, soft goods, hard goods, penguin, bleach bucket, three chafing dishes, three tables. I mean, I had it all. Against all odds. I mean, I even fed the idiot goats.
The drive through the canyon was pretty. The drive above town was pretty. Fog galore. Breaking in the mountains. I mean, I pulled into the parking lot in good time. I was expecting a homecoming, but instead I got a few hellos. The Putin of Gluten asked me how my trip went. I told him some stuff. I mean, it was all very normal. Nobody really missed me. Which is how it is with these heartless bastards. They only care about you when you are around. But out of sight, out of mind. I mean, I am joking, I maybe briefly had a thought or two about the market when I was gone. Mostly though my feelings were geared towards whether it was too hot to sell stuff. Not so much the people involved. Aside from Abbie and her baby or the lack thereof. I mean, she was wearing some pretty wild shorts today. Biking shorts. I mean, she has a very odd sense of dress. I mean, I am not judging, I am just saying, she really does confound me. But I think the thing is; she is just really very normal. Which I find baffling.
I mean, I moved the menu sign back into the booth a little to keep it from blinding people with the sun when they looked at it. It didn't solve the issue of people looking at it. Which I find kind of wild. This means that people see my sandwich board and that is enough to lure them in? I mean, that thing is so very vague:
Cash/Card/Venmo
Breakfast Bubby $6
Cubby Bubby $6
Veggie Bubby $6
Taco Bubby $6
This is all it says! I mean, what the hell is a Bubby? People ask me all the time. Then I turn the lazy Susan and say: "This is a Bubby. It is a one piece sandwich. Basically a stuffed bagel." Then it's like: "Oooh, that looks good! Just ate breakfast though." Then they rub their tummy’s and walk away. I mean, people are wild. And fickle. And very strange. And fickle. Did I mention they are fickle?
I mean, I sold my first Breakfast Bubby at 8:59a. Then I sold two Taco Bubbys not soon after. Then another Breakfast Bubby. I mean, about every five or six minutes I sold something. This went on for about an hour and a half. I sold 52 of the things by 11:30a when I ran out of Breakfast Bubbys. And then, for the next hour and a half I sold exactly five more things. And that was that. 57 total. $342 dollars. What was left were two Taco Bubbys and a Cubby Bubby. I mean, am I selling breakfast food? I didn't know that. I mean, if I sell out it is usually by noon. So, by deduction, does that not mean I sell breakfast food? I mean, if I don't sell out by noon, I won't sell out. I mean, maybe I am selling breakfast food and dinner food. Not lunch food at all. I mean, this is news to me, but it kind of explains things. I mean, I don't "Advertise" that I am selling stuffed bagels, but I guess I am projecting that? I mean, whatever. I did good today. Great even. Considering I have been absent for three weeks. I mean, quite a few customers came around just because I was there. Like they missed me. When I was gone. Which is a good and confusing sign. I mean, I really could make a business out of this thing. I could. It would mean a whole lot of work, but it is entirely possible. I mean, I ate one of the Taco Bubbys after the market. I won't lie, it was good. It was good even after the heat had been off of it for an hour and the thing was almost getting soggy. Not to toot my own horn, but TOOT TOOT Mother fucker. The thing hit the spot.
I mean, the Putin of Gluten was in high spirits. I made him a GF Taco Bubby and a GF Breakfast Bubby. He ate the breakfast thing in the morning and he gave it high praise. I mean, I also gave him a Dishwasher t-shirt. Large. He said he would have to slim down before he could wear it. Then he told me this crazy thing that he used to do 700 push-ups a day. Like even when he was working he would do push-ups. Like he would climb down the ladder, he used to paint houses for a living, and he would drop down and do 20 push-ups. Crazy stuff like that. Any time he had a free second he would do push-ups. I mean, really? That is insane. But you have to remember he was the chubby kid growing up. He just loved, loved! to eat. And it fucked him up. So much so that he would do 700 push-ups in a day when he was a grown adult. I mean, he resisted the Taco Bubby for hours and hours, he really wanted to eat it, but he didn't want to. Because he wanted to fit into the large t-shirt. I mean, the guy is my size. And I am not saying I am fat. I used to be fat. Or whatever, I don't want to fat-shame anyone, even myself, but I put on like 30 lbs during the pandemic. Since then, I mean, I found out in Woody Creek because I stepped on Guy's scale that he had in the living room for some reason that I still don't know why, but I mean, even Jonny had a scale like that in his Harlem apartment. I mean, I guess people have scales. America, I guess. I mean, I saw I was 187 lbs. Which confused me. BECAUSE, for the last three or four years I have been pushing upwards of 190lbs. Quavering there for the longest time, and then the dam broke and I shot up over 200 lbs and I was overweight. But to be back down to 187 lbs. I mean, I am 10 lbs over my ideal weight right now. By ideal, I mean, I feel best when I weigh 175 lbs. Not skinny starving or sluggish heavy. I mean, the Ticklers and the positive attitude are doing their work. I mean, my god, bodies! My point is; I am not large-large anymore, and the Putin of Gluten is not large-large either, but apparently he can't wear a large t-shirt. But I guess he likes the shirt enough that he is going to try and slim down to wear it. And all of this is to say ATBMS, is that, he ate the GF Taco Bubby because he couldn't resist, the fat fuck, and he gave it a less than stellar review. Mostly because it was soggy because it had been lounging around all day in the chafing dish. And had he eaten it first thing, like he had wanted to do, he would have had a different experience. I mean, that is on him, not my delicious treats.
I mean, there was really nothing else of note to report. The weather was great. Mild all day. Some wind. The usual crowd was there. Some locals, mostly flatlanders. Chucks as they are called. There was a wedding in the valley that brought quite a few locals around for some reason. I mean, there is a wedding enclosure up above town that is kind of the weirdest thing. I mean, the place is beautiful, but a place just for weddings? I mean, maybe me and Professor Curly should get married there? The idea of doing it in Wyoming is now out of the question. Her parents are too old for that kind of travel, I think. I mean, we had a small window to begin with, now that window has closed. I mean, going to Wyoming is the same as going to Europe. And I wouldn't force that on anyone, especially if we can just do the thing here. But still, that business, doing weddings for people? I mean, my guess is that it is lucrative for them. For good reason, but still, the overhead alone. It seems foolish, or maybe not? It is like a dude ranch, but for weddings. A wedding ranch under some Vermont vistas.
I mean, the real kicker of the day was the UpSkirter. She has a new book out! Which is great for her. I mean, I feel like I should just buy her books. She has two of them now. They are sure to be wild. I fear though that because she is such a, um, capitalist? That they are really expensive, like $40 bucks or something. Paperback. And as much as I would love to read her take on how "Your heart has too much emotion sometimes," I mean, I don't know why I am trying to talk myself out of buying her books, I mean, I will do it. I just won't buy both.
But the real kicker of the UpSkirter is this: I got butthole today. And you maybe can see that I am not enthralled by the idea because I did not add an exclamation point on the end of that sentence. Yes, I saw butthole, but that butthole was very hairy and it had a piece of toilet paper hanging down. A clinger, as it were. And as much as I am a pragmatist in the global sense of the word, I mean, what is it called when you are thrown out of the rushing waters when cruising down the stream? Oh, right, suspension of disbelief. I mean, there I am, I look over while folding my soft goods, I see a butt, the vagina down below, the winds are bellowing, the skirt flapping with the breeze, a good ol' eye-full ATBMS, and then the little squat that exposes the forbidden zone, the rusty knuckle, and BAM! clinger! I mean, my canoe was on the shore! And, I mean, I know, things are as they are, cheap toilet paper is the bane of everyone, sometimes you find yourself down on a lass and there is nothing to do about it, you have to stop and remove the obstruction, I mean, it gets caught in your throat if you don't, it isn't the best thing in the world, but it isn't the worst, things are what they are, but the deeper you go into the forest, I mean, the further down the trail you go, the river of sorts, I mean, there is bend in the river, and sometimes, I mean, I am not anal-shaming here, I am just a passive appreciator, but, I mean, I know I am in the wrong here. I know it. I very much know it. I have both, no reason to judge, nor any reason to be in this position in the first place, I know that. I shouldn't even be looking. I was only looking because I knew I would see something. But, man, that knocked me out of my place. And good for me, because it was like going somewhere I was not invited and then getting the slap in the face that I deserved. I mean, it was like all of my perverted, um, what is the word? Unworldly, but not unworldly, what you call it when it, shit, I can't get the word I am thinking, but you know what I mean, I mean, sometimes you get what you deserve. And that is what I got. And it was not so much a wake-up call as it was justice being served. I mean, as a guy that likes to just look around sometimes and enjoys what he sees, sometimes I need to curb my eyes and maybe look inward instead. I mean, this was some sort of Buddha shit. Don't look into the eye of the storm unless you are willing to see the clouds or something. And I saw the clouds. And they were dark and clinging. A memory of things gone by. A history of time. And that time was back when the butthole I was looking at had a turd coming out and the toilet paper that was used to wipe that turd away got left behind as a reminder of the turd's past. However! I don't regret it for a second! Because the second option, the option of not knowing the truth, was not a path that I would willingly go down. If anything, I, myself, a courageous traveler down the road of enlightenment. And if that means that things cling, then so be it:
"It is not the thing you cling, but the cling itself."
I mean, it makes me think of things like hidden cameras in things like Air B&B's. Be careful what you ask for, you pervert. Because human beings are wild animals. And everyone of us is human. And if you think you can come and go at will, well, I mean, when Adam and Eve ate that apple, it wasn't so much that they saw each other naked for the first time, they saw each other as human beings, and human beings are not Playboy centerfolds. There is a lot of work that goes into photo shoots. And, I mean, my guess, is that they remove all clingers from those pictures beforehand. I mean, in theory.
I mean, enough about buttholes, let's get back to the laughs ATBMS. After the market shut down I drove over to get some mushrooms from the Shaw's. Some Ticklers that didn't give me diabetes. I stood in line with the meat dude from the market who earlier in the day I had stood in line with him when I realized I had forgotten ketchup and hot sauce. I mean, he was buying ice back then, and a bottle of water. It turns out that he left his water bottle in the shopping cart, so he was buying a new bottle. We talked about beef. I asked him if he sold ground beef. He said he did. I asked how much per pound. He said $9 dollars. I mean, I don't know. I want to support local beef, but I can get that shit for $3.99 a lb. And it doesn't matter. The problem is in the system, not my Cubby Bubby factory. I mean, I am sure his beef is top notch, but I can't afford it. And if I bought his stuff for his going rate I would have to increase my price, and blah, blah, blah, but, I mean, I am selling garbage to fickle assholes, it is hard to make that argument when I was buying 10 lbs of white mushrooms and Ticklers. I mean, chose your battles. But the funny thing was the guy, who is this little, kind of round guy, who takes shots of whiskey all day from the distillery, who has a cool beard and love the Putin of Gluten, I mean, I don't know what he is up to, but, he asked a few people if they had seen his bottle of water from before. From like six hours ago! That he had left behind on accident when he was buying bags of ice. I mean, it's Shaw's! The kids that work there could care almost entirely less. But he was so upset about paying twice for this bottle of water that he actually asked them if they had seen his bottle of water. I mean, I made a joke because when I came into the grocery story, the cart I had to remove to get the cart I wanted had a bottle of Coke in it, un-opened, I said: "Well, there is a bottle of Coke in a cart over there if you want that." I mean, he seriously said: "Nah, I don't think so." I mean, people are all very odd. That is all I can say about things.
I mean, I gotta go. But Professor Curly showed up. We ate delicious steaks at DogBoy Beach. WIth corn on the cob and campfire green beans. All very tasty. I mean, me and PC came back to Beaver Haus. The Publisher and Scott and Phillipa and Grit and R and M went to the drive-in movie in Bethel. The new Show Me The Money dude's thing. I mean, there is a lot to do tomorrow. I should hit the sack.
[Insert Market Photo]
