[201] Screed City

[201]

I don't know if dedicating a Screed to someone is an a appropriate thing to do, but I am doing it anyway. I would like to dedicate this Screed to two very dear friends that passed away recently:

Marlene, you were a very unique and amazing person. I don't even have the words. You will be dearly missed.

Cara, I hope you found peace. I am sorry how the world treated you. I think of you often.

10/08/2022 Saturday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

Farmers Market Week Eighteen:

Well, that's it. The thing is done. I mean, I guess there is the Pirate Market next week, but no way in hell I am doing that thing. I mean, I passed a dumpster on the way back to Granville, and almost pulled over and threw all of Cubby Bubby Inc.'s operation into it. Just joking. I am still on the fence about the future of the operation. But today really made me wonder what the hell I was doing. In the grand scheme of things. I mean, I guess I will start from the beginning.

Yesterday was Parents Day at G's new school. In Troy, New York. Which meant that I baked on Thursday. And on Wednesday I had to make the fillings and insulate the attic, which was it's own can of worms ATBMS. I mean, I got back to Vermont on Tuesday. After a spit-fire weekend in the City, after working all week in Portland and then driving all day last Friday. I mean, my point is, I had a whole bunch of shit happening and it all just kept coming. And it was impossible to keep up, and I mean, to go back to Friday, I had to get up at 5a to be at the campus by 9a, and then there were mock classes until lunch and then PT meetings until 3p and then I had to drive back. Make sure I took the Cubby Bubbys out of the freezer and start thawing them AMEC. I mean, I turned the heat on. Reluctantly. On Tuesday when I got back. Beaver Haus both smelled and felt like a cold barn when I got here. Cold and mouse-ridden. I mean, there were two dead mice in the basement. 64 dead now by my counting. But that is not why the place stunk. The place was just abandoned for so long, the vermin smell has soaked it's way in. I noticed it also when I got back from Wyoming, but I thought that was just because of the squirrel. But when the air is hot, there are other smells, when the air is cold, the REAL stinks come a-stankin'. I mean, before I went to bed last night, I thought the heat was on. I was quite worried about it. I know I checked. I was wrong. It got down into the low 30's. But when I woke up, the upstairs thermostat read 61F. And the downstairs thermostat read 60F, so that is good. Maybe the new insulation helped. But because I had NOT turned the heat on, the Cubby Bubbys didn't thaw correctly, I mean, I turned the oven on AMEC, and decided to do a 30 minute pre-heat instead of 20 minute pre-heat, and that solved my problems. Kind of.

I mean, I did a good job. A great job even. I was prepped and ready to go by 6:45a. And since the goats have moved to the Compound, loading Junior Mint was quite pleasant. I mean, even enjoyable. I mean, it was still in the 30's, so I started the car. Turned the heater on full-blast. Loaded the thing. Got the chafing dishes in. And was on the road by 6:58a. Early. I mean, it was good. Beautiful. Peaceful. The foliage is at peak leafing. Like really.

[Insert Vermont-Style Photo[s]]

I mean, it was quite amazing. When I passed Warren and got on top of the hill, the ski mountains had some insane cloudage that was quite nice to look at. And then, a little while later. It happened. It finally happened. My biggest fear. The biggest travelling fear about the Cubby Bubbys. I mean, I always thought it would be a moose, but it was not, it was a god-damned black bear. That fucker. Out of nowhere. And if you know bears, they are stupid idiots when it comes to roads. They are smart enough to know that they shouldn't be there, but too, I don't know, dog-like, to know that they should just get off the road? Not like cows or deer. They think somehow they can outsmart the cars coming at them. I am surprised there aren't more dead bears on the side of the road. Honestly. But I had to do it, I just had to. I slammed on the brakes. And guess what? The back right chafing dish just flew over. Flipped over. All the water sloshing to the floor. I couldn't believe it. I mean, I wasn't sure what I would find when I pulled the car over. I thought I was going to find 20 Cubby Bubbys totally ruined. But luck was on my side, kind of, not the good old general luck where a black bear doesn't come out of nowhere and forces you to slam on you brakes, but the acute luck where the Cubby Bubbys aren't ruined, but now you have to think of a way to get them back up to temperature before the farmers market opens.

I mean, there was nothing I could do. So instead of freaking out, I just had a little think-see while I was driving. I mean, by the time I got to the covered bridge I had a solution. I mean, it was cold, so I brought extra canned heat. And, I had a water bottle filled with tasty well water. I mean, I would just pour my water bottle in the bottom of the chafing dish and use four liquids heat to get the thing real hot, then when I was done unloading I could go get some more water from the grocery and make things right. I mean, that is exactly what I did.

I mean, when I got to the parking lot I unloaded the usual first things. The product. Always the product. The product takes precedence. I mean, I did the thing that I thought I should do and everything was coming up roses ATBMS. I mean, I noticed that the Putin of Gluten wasn't there yet, but that didn't concern me. Yet. I mean, I usually use his booth as a way to orient my booth, but I wasn't setting up my booth yet. Just keeping the product warm. I mean. I unloaded everything else. Got back into Junior Mint. Parked. Went into the Shaw's. Bought a gallon of warm water, well, water from the shelf. I also needed paper towels, so I got some of those too. Seasonal kind. With snowmen and snow flakes. I mean, I walked back to the market. Stopping at Abbie's perch to ask her about the POG. I mean, if I needed to worry about where I was putting my tent, because he still wasn't there.

I said: "Abbie! Abbie!" Like a chant. "Last market. We did it!"

She said: "Oh, hi! We sure did!"

I said: "Hey, do you know if Jurd is coming?" His name is Jarod, I call him Jurd. And sometimes when his costumers ask his name I chime in: "He puts the rod, in Jarod." Then he scowls at me.

Abbie said: "Yeah, he is not coming in. He said that if the weather was bad he wouldn't be making it in."

I said: "This is bad weather? Doesn't he live in Vermont?"

She said: "Oh, he meant at Martha's Vineyard. No, this weather is amazing!"

I said: "Oh, okay."

She said: "But someone will be in his place, don't worry about that."

I said: "Okay, thanks! Have a good market!"

I went to my booth and said to the Tamale Lady: "Jurd's not coming."

She said: "Oh, really? How come?"

I said: "Abbie said something about bad weather on the, um, Hamptons, no Martha's Vineyard."

She said: "Oh, right! He does that thing. But what does that mean? Like bad weather means he can't get out?"

I said: "I don't know. But there is someone else filling the space."

She said: "On the busiest weekend all year? I would think so! Hungh!" It was kind of dramatic.

I mean, I went back to work setting up my booth. Then I listened as the Tamale Lady started spreading the lie that the Putin of Gluten was stuck on Martha's Vineyard because the ferries couldn't get to the main land because of the hurricane. I mean, I couldn't believe it. I mean, that spread to the Tonya lady, who then said it to the Vermont-style Floral Arrangement couple, who I think then told the Dog Treats lady. Skaliwags, I mean. I mean it was a whole Ferris Bueller situation all over again. I mean, poor Jarod had drown off the shore of Martha's Vineyard and he was trying to stay afloat with one of his cutting boards, but like the true hero he was, he gave it to his wife. He sacrificed his life and his art just so his wife could survive!

I mean, even later in the day Tonya came over to my booth, a thing she has never ever done, and the back side even, like illicitly, just to get the gossip from me. The horses mouth ATBMS. I mean, it was kind of surreal.

I mean, I set up my tent without the POG as my lodestar. I mean, it wasn't hard, but it added an extra step. And then it made me realize that he was kind of a pain in the ass every Saturday. Because he was so particular. And without him there, I had a new freedom that I hadn't realized I was lacking. I mean, typical, right? You think you are just being nice and going with the flow, but really some asshole has been manipulating you for 18 weeks straight, just to get his artisanal cutting board display just right. I mean, that fucker. And to think, I even made a special last market GF Bubby for the dick. I mean, it really is something. I mean, I should add him to the list and sub-Screed him. Maybe he would get the message?

I mean, after a while the new boother showed up. And this is why I am re-thinking things. I mean, it was this guy Livingstone, I think his name was. But he is Indian. Like from India. And he was very nice. Like super nice. Introduced himself to me. I mean, I had seen him before. Down the way. I didn't know what he sold, but I had seen him. And it turns out he sells Chai tea. Or is it just chai? And the tea is implied? Either way, he was selling hot chai today. And he had a bunch of cups with him. Tea cups. Like reusable, kitchen-style mugs. Things he had bought from the thrift store for $.25 cents. I mean, that was kind of clever. No waste. Plus they were all different. And he had people choose which one they wanted. I mean, but that isn't what got me. He was selling the stuff at $5 dollars a pop. And that wasn't what got me either. I mean, he sold out at about the same time I sold out. Which didn't get me either. Although, had he brought twice his inventory, which would have meant bringing two more gallons of the stuff, he would have sold it. I mean, the day was cold and people were just lapping the shit up. At $5 dollars a pop! But that is not what got me either. What got me was when he said that a few weeks ago he sold 66 of the cold chai things that he also sells, and that blew his mind. That he could push that much product in a day. And, I mean, yes, he could do that but also tons more. I mean, the guy kind of has a genius business and I don't think he even knows it. I mean, he has my problem, except, EXCEPT, he has a built in solution. His shit, sure it will go bad at some point, but it costs him basically nothing and he could bring twice as much product without actually having to work twice as hard. Or buy twice as many things to keep his business going. And he said as much. As his business has expanded, he just keeps bringing an extra gallon of the good stuff, and if it sells, great, if not, so what, lesson learned. But he keeps selling out. I mean, I tried to tell him as much, but he didn't really want to hear it. I mean, he also sometimes has his wife come and she sells Indian food, which! in Vermont! Authentic Indian food at a farmers market? It is a no-brainer Rainer! I mean, I told him about the chafing dishes being nominal in cost, same too the liquid heat. I mean, it won't surprise me if this dude is raking it in by mid-Summer next year. Like really, fickle dicks or not. I mean, I am sad I didn't get his number now that I think about it. For why? I don't know, but I would like to follow his progress. And, I mean, I don't know how that changes Cubby Bubby Inc., but there is something there, not exactly obvious, that I need to pay attention too. I mean, I do plan of seeing if I can boil the fuckers and see how they turn out. Like maybe even add some outside seasoning, like bagels. Everything spices, or poppy seed, or other seeds. I mean, I feel like I am just beginning, even though I want it to end.

Or do I? I mean, now that it is over, I suddenly want it again. I mean, I blame the Putin of Gluten with his mind-tricks and abuse. You only want the things you can't have because you can't have them.

And yes, I did sell out by 11:30a. And so I had to stand there looking for an hour and a half. Throngs of fickle assholes. All wondering what I was selling, and then the normal: "No wonder you sold out! That sounds delish!" Versus the: "Oh, that sounds delish! Too bad I just had breakfast." I mean, someone was honest today and after their friend said: "Oh, I am sorry I just had breakfast." She said: "I am not sorry I had breakfast." I mean, I almost hugged her for her simple honesty.

And, I mean, that was it. The thing is over. I waited around. Hoping for some good times. Didn't really get any. I mean, I am not saying there were bad times, or even neutral times, but I kind of just stood there looking. Waiting for the thing to end. I got hungry. Then I sent the Putin of Gluten a photo of the one remaining Cubby Bubby. His damned GF Bubby. I wrote a text that said: "You want me to mail this to ya?" Then he sent a photo back of him on the beach and a text that said: "I hope it is raining there."

[Insert Martha's Vineyard Photo]

I mean, the gall of that guy. I mean, I was glad to have something to eat, but it was gluten free and kind of crap compared to the other stuff. I mean, the hot sauce I make is getting really good, so I was glad to try it in new ways, but still, I mean, whatever. I mean, we will see. Six months from now is the next one of these things. And maybe on day one, I can hand him a GF Bubby and say: "Good to see you..." And as he takes a bite I can punch him in the gut and finish the sentence: "get what's coming to you!"

I mean, after the thing closed down I packed up and got on down the road. I mean, I should have said goodbye to people and stuff, but I didn't. We are all ships in the night anyway, only there for business. I mean, it really is kind of amazing how it works out, but it is just business. And I don't need them, and they don't need me. It is just as a collective we draw a crowd. And because that crowd comes, we all benefit. I mean, I rather enjoy it. The sounds of clinking hammers in the morning, the tent spikes going in, the bands playing the same 20 songs all with a different flavor, the tourists and locals, just casually strolling through, I mean, the regulars, the miscreants, the random MAGA douche with his Let's Go Brandon! shirt. I mean, it's Society at it's core. Everyone getting along. Nobody being an actual asshole. I mean, the opposite of the computer. I mean, it is just people buying stuff and trying to have a good Saturday. Maybe buying some produce, or a cutting board, or some CBD, or pressed cider, or some arranged flowers, or some CBD, or some produce, or a Cubby Bubby, or some pottery, or some produce, or some CBD, or some produce, or some CBD. I mean, it's fun. And everyone benefits. And then we all go home and spend six months of Winter wondering why in the fuck we live in Vermont.

I mean, I stopped at the Shaw's to get some coffee and some other things. And then I drove back to Beaver Haus. I was still hungry so I ate some tacos. Then I was going to take a nap, but the Publisher needed some candles for Grit's jack-o-lanterns. I mean, we had a bunch for some reason. I mean, Professor Curly bought them at some point. I don't remember when. But I remembered seeing them. I mean, I found them and put them into a Taco Bell bag that I had got yesterday because I had to drive through Rutland, to save time, and I gave myself a treat because of it. But the treat was a bitter treat. I mean, I pulled into the drive-through. Which only had three cars in it. I thought, Great, this should be quick. But the line did not move. 10 minutes went by. Then I smelled a bunch of weed. Then I looked over and some youngster was going in. And I thought, Oh, that is funny, to smoke a bunch of weed and then, THEN, before the weed kicks in, you go into the Taco Bell, that's smart, you'll have the food ready before the weed hits. I mean, that is really what I thought. But then the 10 minutes turned into 20 minutes. And now there were a bunch of cars behind me so I couldn't back out. I mean, it was a little bit of torture, but because I have worked at taco places like this, or fast food like this, I both had sympathy and I also knew what was happening. It was 5p, a shift change, plus lately, these shit business can't get workers because who the fuck wants to work at Taco Bell? I mean, there were two signs in the drive-through telling me they were hiring. One said they had open interviews that you could be hired on the spot and the other one said pay up to $16 dollars an hour. I mean, a couple of years ago, maybe you would get some action, but now? It's a little too little, a little too late. I mean, these jobs suck. The hours suck. The job sucks. The management sucks. You get treated like a goon. You have to work on-site at least 40 hours a week. I mean, it is just humiliating. There is no where to go with them aside from upper management, but then what? You work your way up to own a Taco Bell? Not even own. Franchise. Which is basically leasing a business. I mean, sure, it is a great thing to do if all you care about is money, but most people need other things to have a good life. I mean, my point is. 30 minutes later I finally get to the window and the same youngster that I thought was just going in to get tacos, was actually working the drive-through, and he had NO idea what he was doing. I mean, I laughed. I mean, the amount of chaos in that place at the moment must have been astonishing. I mean, when the guy finally handed me the tacos he said: "You want some sauce?" I said: "Hot sauce please." And he grabbed at least 20 packets of the stuff, as well as a plastic fork, tried to drop the stuff in the bag, half of it fell out of the window and onto the ground. I mean, I said: "Thanks! Good luck!" And drove off. I mean, he was in for a very long night. All of them were. And I was not exactly glad about it, but it was like a little nostalgia for me. Because nights like that are intense. And nobody wins.

I mean, when the Publisher came over she came inside and we sat down and talked for a few minutes. Grit was in the play house out back writing a letter for her friend. Me and the Publisher talked about book things. About readings and the future. I mean, there are some exciting things happening, but also tumultuous times. I mean, everything needs so much attention these days, and everything is so up in the air that it is incredibly frustrating. I mean, it's not just publishing, but everything. I mean, maybe we should all just get jobs at Taco Bell and say, Fuck it. I don't know. I mean, I don't believe that, but it certainly would be easier. I mean, after she left I went upstairs and took a power nap. And then when I came back downstairs I checked my phone and she had sent me a photo of a hot dog roller that was being sold somewhere for a $dollar. I mean, I immediately called her. I have been looking for one of those things for years. She answered and I said:

"Where did you see that?!"

She said: "There is a garage sale at the barn next to Hubbard's."

I said: "They still open?"

She said: "I don't know. You can go check."

I said: "Okay, shit, I gotta go!" I hung up and hauled ass. I mean, I had to make sure and stay cool. It was 5:10p, there was a chance that the thing was still going. I mean, I was speeding down the highway. I mean, I really had to calm down. I mean, I got to Hancock and I could immediately see the barn was still selling things. I pulled over. Saw the roller. Some lady was looking at some junk. There was a sign that read: Everything $1 Dollar. I mean, I said to the lady: "Who do I pay?" She said: "I was wondering the same thing. Maybe at the general store?" Then some guy showed up. Mid-60's pushing a wheelbarrow. Bright white teeth. Smiling. I whipped out a dollar and said: "I want the hot dog machine!" And he said: "Oh! Finally a taker!" And I said: "I have been looking for one of these things for years! I blah-blah-blah-blah!" He didn't listen to my story. It didn't matter. I mean, the luck! I grabbed it and hauled ass back home. The last thing he said to me was: "It's as is! No returns!" I didn't care. Whatever was wrong with the thing could be fixed. I mean, I parked and ran around the car and grabbed the thing and ran inside. Threw everything aside on the counter. Put it down. Plugged it in. I mean, the rollers don't roll, but the rollers heat up! I mean, and it sounds like the motor is trying to work. I mean, I mean, I mean, I mean.

[Insert Hot Dog Roller Photo]

I mean, say what you will, but everything worked out just fucking fine. For once. For a guy who can't catch a break, I mean, if six months of strife and toil led to this exact moment, I mean, I can say I am doing pretty damn good for myself.

End Farmers Market Manuscript. JT 10/08/2022