[191] Screed City

[191]

09/03/2022 Saturday. Garbage Room. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

Farmers Market Week Fourteen:

Another day, another doll hair. I don't know what to say. I mean, I guess I am selling breakfast food. But I don't know what to do about it. The Breakfast Bubby is where it is at. But I guess let's start from the beginning.

The morning was mostly fine. I mean, I had to force myself out of bed. Wild dreams all night. Mostly work-style anxiety dreams. Joe S was involved somehow. And Scott. And I think Iver. Plus the Farmers Market. I mean, it was pitch black when I woke up. I managed to stumble downstairs without any lights on. I made some coffee and ate leftover pizza from last night. I looked at stuff for a few moments. Then I tried to listen to the politics comedy hour, but that jerk is still on vacation. Three weeks now. I mean, I don't blame the guy, but it kind of grosses me out. Not that he is on vacation, but because he is on vacation with Woody Allen's ex-wife's son who I find very obnoxious. I mean, the guy, not Woody Allen's ex-wife's kid, but the podcaster, I mean, he is hilarious, but I think I would find him insufferable if I ever met him IRL. He is a little bit of a self-centered diva. And probably a huge pain in the ass. I mean, I don't mean to talk shit, but c'mon! Three weeks without the politics comedy hour? That is too much!

Anyway, I listened to the Midwest Rebellion thing instead. Which I would have done anyway, but the shows are best as a combo. Either way, I started the oven at 5:30a today. To try something new. And it worked perfect. It gave me an extra 15 minutes in the end. And the Cubby Bubbys got real nice and heated because of it. I mean, I had also set myself up real good yesterday. I had almost no extra work to do in the morning aside from finding my black jeans that I had forgotten to lay out last night.

I mean, yesterday was a bake-athon. I made 30 Breakfast Bubbys, 10 Taco Bubbys, 10 Cubby Bubbys, and eight Veggie Bubbys. I had a problem with my mushroom filling. One sack of it had gone bad somehow. I mean, it must have just been very old. And like an idiot, I never put dates on things that I freeze. So it is entirely possible the stuff was from June or something. I mean, it was pretty damn stinky. I mean, with the two extra doughs I had, I made a Philly Cheese Bubby and a Cheezy Taco Bubby. The Philly one was pretty good. Not the best, but pretty good. The Cheezy Taco Bubby on the other hand. Top notch! Hats off! What was the secret, you ask? Cheez Whiz. I mean, I don't even know what to say about it. It just really tied the room together. I mean, if it was up to me, and it entirely is up to me, I think I should do Breakfast Bubbys and Cheezy Taco Bubbys only.

But that was it too, instead of freezing the things, just putting them in the fridge after they are cooled is far superior to the other method. I mean, the other method does the same thing, but I don't have to worry about them being too cold. And I don't have to fuss with timing. I just put the things in the fridge and when I am ready to reheat them, I take them out of the fridge. No temperature testing, no spray and pray. i mean, consistency is king here. I mean, for the next five weeks that is what I will do. Bake on Friday and put the things in the fridge when they cool down. It saves time and energy and thought.

I mean, I was so ahead of myself this morning that I didn't even need to rush in any way. When 6:45a came around, I simply walked outside. Opened all the doors of Junior Mint and just loaded. I mean, it was a thing of beauty. I mean, it was also beautiful out. Foggy as well as Vista-y. I mean, I looked at the time when I pulled out of the driveway; 7:01a. Perfect. I mean, nearly perfect. I mean, the drive was nice and uneventful. Warren was just waking up. Some dude that looked hungover was trying to go the general store to get some coffee, or so I assumed, but the store was still closed and I don't think he knew what to do about it. Tourists, am I right. I mean, the Marriage Retreat place also had some hangovers happening. Which is probably par for the course there. I mean, weddings and drinking go hand in hand. I mean, I did get stuck behind a tractor for some time, but it eventually turned and I was free to go along my merry way ATBMS.

Waitsfield was the same old dump. I still don't understand that town. I mean, I have come around to Rochester, I get it, it has something, but Waitsfield? I mean, the town proper, it just doesn't make sense to me. I mean, I don't know, maybe I need to make some friends, see what things are like on the inside, because from the outside, it just seems like a lousy town to live in. Like Hancock. I guess better than Hancock. Hancock is run by JD and his tribe, the Hotel is pretty cool, and I don't mind the post office, but the town itself is, I mean, whatever, I don't know why I am talking trash about Vermont towns right now. Maybe Professor Curly is right? I am too negative. Waitsfield was great! Beautiful and making perfect sense! It reminded me of how Hancock is a fantastic town with lots going for it!

I mean, I had one of those mornings though where I mean, for a brief second I thought that it might not be Saturday and I would show up to the Farmers Market and no one would be there. And I would be fucked. Because it would mean I would have to spend the day baking again. I mean, all week I hadn't really kept track of time like I normally do. I mean, I just kind of assumed it was Saturday. I mean, I was right, but for a while there I was convinced I had fucked it up. I mean, I parked and unloaded. Making quick work of it all. The Putin of Gluten was there already. Like always. I wonder if he is the first one to get there? I should ask him. Because that is kind of crazy. He has about an hour less work than I do to set up. I mean, he has a display thing and that is all. No signage, no fires that need to be burning, no sandwich board or menu board. I mean, I am making it seem like I have a lot of work to do before the market opens, I don't. I could get there an hour later and be just fine. But it is because of the damn yoga studio that I have to get there before 8a. I mean, I spend an hour and half setting up, he spends over two hours setting up. Plus he has an hour drive. I mean, whatever, to each their own ATBMS, or As The BridesMaids Say. [That is for you Rambona.] A reminder for those that forgot.

I mean, me and the POG [Putin of Gluten] talked for a while. He told me about his week. How he killed and peeled 70 chickens. Then he took the heads and feet and guts to the dump. And it was gross. And he thought it was hilarious that people would have to deal with that stink for the rest of the day. Which I found quite telling about his personality. I mean, I would have felt bad about that, he relished the idea of people getting sick from his mess. And then he told me he just dumped bleach into the bucket he took the heads and feet and guts in. He said he was going to wait until the Winter to clean the thing. I mean, I found that also telling. I mean, then what? Is dealing with a frozen bucket of chicken guts better than dealing with an un-frozen bucket of chicken guts? I mean, not to me it isn't. But I live in a world of fore-sight and perspicacity so I would never do anything like that. Then again, I wouldn't also take my chicken guts to the dump and put them in compost cans for someone else to deal with. I mean, I guess we can agree to disagree ATBMS.

I mean, and that was that. When the talking was done the market opened and I was slinging Bubbys like nobodies business. I mean, I forgot it was the last market of the Summer, and not only that, but it is a holiday weekend. I mean, I sold out by 11:30a. The very last thing I sold? A Veggie Bubby. I mean, as much as I love to give the veggie-heads an option, they are the most fickle assholes of the bunch. I mean, I sold out Cubby Bubbys before I sold out the Taco Bubbys, but when somebody wanted a Cubby Bubby and I said I was out and they would ask about the Taco Bubby, I mean, this happened like three times, and they said: "Oh! That's sounds good, too!" I mean, it is just a flavor adjustment, not a life-style change. Which is why I think I should just do Breakfast Bubbys and Taco Bubbys. Maybe even Cheezy Taco Bubbys. I mean, what I really need to do is do 40 Breakfast Bubbys and 20 others. What those others are doesn't really matter. I mean, when I describe them as: "A stuffed bagel." People just assume it is a breakfast food. Which, I mean, any food is breakfast if you eat it in the morning ATBMS. And, I mean, it is. I mean, who am I to tell anyone what to do?

I mean, after I sold out there was still a lot of interest. People just wondering what it was that I was selling. Which was good. One person asked:

"Sold out, wow! What were you selling?"

I said: "Basically a stuffed bagel."

They said: "Well no wonder you sold out! That sounds delicious!" I mean, not to be negative, but that same conversation plays out all day when I am not sold out. People will ask me what I am selling, I will tell them, and they will say: "That sounds tasty! I just ate though." I mean, these fickle fuckers don't know what is good for them, and when they have a chance to cop out, they take it. Of course it is easier to say that sounds delicious and of course you sold out when there is nothing on the line for them. I mean, all day long I get it. From the POG to random people, the thing I am selling is great, but...

And his whole point is that I should sell the people what they want. Sure, that is just fine. But what the fuck do they actually want? Because I have a freezer full of Veggie Bubbys that I can't give away. So they don't want that, but if I don't show up with Veggie Bubbies enough of the veggie-heads come by and complain about it. But what they don't know is that if I don't sell the things they just go straight into the freezer to be used as display things. Which is actually fine. I mean, I guess, I mean, I suppose I would rather have to make a Bubby just to destroy it for displays-sake than to not sell one of the fuckers and have to use my failure as a looking post. I mean, if you know what I mean. I mean, I put a lot of energy and love into these things and to get rejected by the fickle nature of human consumption, I mean, I would rather have control of that. I mean, I will eat the display models if they are Cubby Bubbys, the Veggie Bubbys displays just go into the trash. I mean, maybe I am projecting and that is what people are picking up on, but I am not a vegetarian, and I mean, mushrooms boil down to nothing. So I end up using too many onions, and everyone knows that too many onions is bad for business, but what else can I do? Make them with carrots? Potatoes? Leeks? I mean, I have no idea. What would I eat if I was a vegetarian? I mean, I wouldn't eat a Cubby Bubby, that is what. So it is kind of a moot point in the end. And don't get me started with the Gluten Free or the Vegan ideas. Because those fickle assholes, even if as they go around the world, lamenting how awful they have it because there are no good options for them. I mean, give me a fucking break. Not because of your life choices, either foisted or otherwise, but you have to understand the simple nature of business, right? I mean, I try, and I keep trying, but if you are somebody that can't or won't eat something and yet you want the same options as everyone else? I mean, I am not saying you are wrong or should change your ways, but if you don't buy up everything that comes your way that conforms to your needs, I mean, there is no way in hell that a business like mine can keep building these things for you only to get rejected by your inconsistent, and, frankly, nearly childish palette. I mean, I see it all the time. The hidden resentment and anger. But I don't know what to do about it. I am not your personal chef. I can't read your mind and bake your special treat for you, especially if you don't buy the thing when I try as hard as I can to attempt to do that. I mean, Capitalism strikes again. Money talks, bullshit walks ATBMS.

I mean, I have a new thing. I make the POG a GF Breakfast Bubby every week. And every week he eats and critiques ATBMS on their food podcast called Eats and Critiques: A Podcast For Gluten Free America. I mean, that doesn't exist, but I would listen to it. I mean, maybe it does exist, but I don't know about it. Which means it doesn't exist. Blood Meridian rules. I mean, say what you want about Cormac McCarthy, but his Judge character kind of was a good character. "Things that exist without my knowledge do so without my permission." I mean, it is teenage boy politic, but I think it applies to almost everything in life. I mean if you still have the hubris to think such a thing. I mean, I think the point is that that idea is just so fundamentally fraught and untrue that McCarthy was being ironic, but maybe not. He did have all those books before that book and the border books that may or may not make him a little full of himself, but that is a discussion for another Screed.

I mean, what was I saying? Oh, people suck. I mean, the scammers from back in July came back. Some gal named Lauren, who wants me to cook a meal for her "Party of Friends." I mean, I was waiting for the follow-up. I mean, these gals with their Tupperware. And it is just so dumb. I don't know who the hell they think they are fooling. I mean, she wants me to come cook an entire dinner for between 10-20 people. On my dime. Reimbursed, she assured me, and then, if I get past the first round, they may consider me for a job cooking for 20-30 people three to four days at a time in the Winter. All three meals. But just me. Or, I suppose, just me. I mean, it sounds like an absolute nightmare. They want me to start my own catering business to cater to their Ponzi Scheme Weekends. I mean, really? And the best part, as far as I am concerned, because maybe I am wrong and this is a great opportunity for me. [To lose money.] I mean, both times now, they didn't bother buying a Cubby Bubby. $6 dollars. That is all it would take for me to think they may be the tiniest bit serious. I mean, I feel bad for her. And I keep saying them like there was more than just Lauren, but there is more than just Lauren. All working on commission. I mean, I feel bad for her and them. Shit, in this labor market? I mean, they could be making $17 dollars an hour working at the Micky D's in Middlebury. Instead they are going around trying to score a free caterer for some holiday weekend bullshit pulling in Japanese tourists and fleecing them for maybe a huge, I don't even know, $5,000 dollar pay out? I mean, between the last time I saw her and now, if she had just gotten a job and worked all week at that job for the last 10 weeks, I mean, $750 a week, times 10. Right? Is that not $7,500 dollars? I mean, even minus taxes, you still pull in over $5,000 dollars. I mean, the mystery and glamor might be missing, but the money would be better. I mean, how much money are they dangling in front of these rubes? I mean, sadly I have to respond to the electronic mail she sent. Because it will probably hurt her feelings, but still. I mean, I don't know if I should be honest and tell her she is getting scammed, or just say that I can't do it, which I can't, which, I mean, I actually wish I had the time to get involved in the scam because I want to see how fucked up it is, but I am not rich enough to just entertain myself, but still, I mean, I may just leave my availability open. Just in case. I mean, who the hell knows what this Winter will bring? I mean, I have ideas, but if I have learned anything in the last two years, it is that shit is fickle and sometimes, during the Winter, you have a little bit of free-time.

I mean, Professor Curly and her sister and her mom came to the market today. Her mom was very cute. Wearing a pink visor and a pink shirt. She said: "Maybe I should come and work for you? I already have the outfit." I mean, it was all very cute. I always have to remember not to hug PC's mom too hard. Because she is a tiny little thing. But the sisters. I mean, pure chaos. Two redheaded menaces. Nothing but trouble. Taking their mom around. Causing grief. I mean, I had to tell them to get lost, they were too damn busy, having too many ideas. I mean, I was just trying to sell my Bubbys. I didn't need a business lesson. I mean, really, at that very moment I had just a couple Bubbys left. And PC's sister got into cahoots with the POG and they were double teaming me about the idea of Philly Cheese Bubby. Which I agree with! It is just not fiduciarily plausible. The shaved steak is too expensive. Which, sure, I can raise my prices, but that does nothing for me. Aside from having the headache of having to sell the things every single time. I mean, I can transfer the money to the customer, but it doesn't make me any more money. It just makes my things more expensive. And really, I could just raise my prices anyway and make more money, but I am the People's Cubby Bubby. Anti-inflation. I mean, I don't need to make any money. Just the cost is good enough for me. I mean, not that the People are the ones buying the things. But it is a principle matter. And sure, I could do a high-end whatever, but what is the point? I have no desire to sell a Bubby to Overlord Bezos. The only Bubby I want touching his lips is the Bubby that has my balled fist connected to it. I mean, sit that fucker in a chair and put a Bubby in his mouth and I would gladly punch it into his throat. Shit, the dude wouldn't even need to chew. And when it got down into his stomach, I would gladly punch it back up his esophagus. And then, then when it is was back in his mouth, I would help him chew it with a couple uppercuts to his bottom jaw. You see where I am going with this?

Fuck the rich. That is where I am going with this. I mean, if I am going to pour my heart and soul into something, I mean, I am getting closer and closer to this idea of Adam from Northern Exposure or the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld than I am to catering to the Bros that would pay $10 bucks for a Philly Sandy they can eat with one hand while groping moguls. Or whatever it is you call it when you ski real good. Bust powder.

I mean, really. I am not a Capitalist. And business is not just business. It just isn't. I mean, I could increase my prices, that is true. In fact, I am sure my business does not reflect the actual cost. But if I was doing this just for the money, I would be a horrible businessman. I mean, there is about twenty thousand different ways I should be conducting myself. I mean, the fact that every single new sale I do I have to explain what it is that I am selling should be a giant red flag, not only to me, but to everyone around me. But yet I proceed. Yet, I endeavor to persevere. I mean, the business is not long for this world ATBMS. Or is it? I mean, I am carving out a niche, but that niche needs time and focus and diligence that I am missing. And as much as the Bubbys are getting better with each passing day, the clientele remains the same. So, unless you can fix the fickle nature of the general populace, I mean, I need to have a 10 year plan here. And selling more expensive versions of the same thing is not that. It is more work for the same money. And as much as I am not against making more money, I just don't see the point in working harder for basically the same outcome. I mean, if you want to talk about getting a food truck or a commercial kitchen, I mean, the business is possible, but then, Vermont has six months of Winter, so, I mean, I am too lazy for the amount of work that would entail. Not because I am afraid of the work, but 100% of that work would be up to me to do. There is exactly zero infrastructure. And I am too old to go diving into lockers at this point. To quote Major League. A very satisfying movie, if I remember it right. I mean, it is probably quite problematic these days, but still, I mean.

I mean, how did we get here? I was talking about the market and something went sideways. Oh, Professor Curly and her sister and her mom. I mean, I stood around for an hour and a half after selling out. Not sure how to take it. They left. Well, PC's mom and sister left. PC came back and we had some talking about dinner. Some wires got crossed and I don't want to talk about it. But I did my things and finished up with the market. There were no clingers from the UpSkirter. She was wearing a flowery dress, so I assumed that something would appear, but I got nothing. Which was fine by me. I mean, last week kind of put an end to the intrigue. There is something about combining the taboo nature of seeing someone’s butthole with the pragmatic and earthly nature of the reality of seeing a dangling toilet paper clinger on the butthole that kind of knocks the system out of balance. If you can catch my drift. I mean, it's one thing to see a butthole, it's another thing to think about pooping when you see a butthole. I mean, we live and we learn ATBMS. I mean, in the end, the Farmers Market, even if it was a banner day for Cubby Bubbys, was kind of just a regular day for marketeering. I mean, if anything, I had an idea that I should start writing a sitcom about a farmers market. And I would call it, Boothers. And it would be pretty good. And I think it may be my next project. I mean, as much as I loved writing Cranky and Muddy. The thing about living in Vermont, I mean, the Farmers Market has way more nuances that would allow the writing to flourish. And there would be no age limit or race things that would mess things up. Because the Farmers Market is actually a meeting place of ideas. As opposed to daily life in Vermont. I mean, you'll see. I can get a pony tail going. Or grow some dreads. I mean, the idea is sand now, but soon, I'll grow that pearl.

Either way. Abbie did a social media post about me today.

[Insert Social Media Post]