Holy fuck. I had to spend the late morning and early afternoon being a stand-in merchant at the Montpelier Farmers’ Market today.
Please, don’t ask how I got roped into that gig. But, if you must, the short version goes something like this: Money.
Farmers’ markets in Vermont are like fucking vacuum cleaners aimed at the wallets of guilty liberals. These sons-of-bitches spend all week doing shit that they feel terrible about and then take their families to the market on Saturday as some sort of liberal penance.
“Forgive me, liberal Father, for I have sinned,” they seemingly proclaim. “So don’t worry about charging me a mind-fuck-amount for that tomato.”
Besides, the chicks falling for this look sweeter than the fruit. Or is that a vegetable?
Whatever.
The goal of a modern farmers’ market is quite clear: Rip. You. Off. Because ripping you off makes you feel good about – what was that again? – oh yeah: saving the family farm.
But believing that farmers’ markets are saving the family farm is kind of like believing that prostitution is saving our species. Every sperm is sacred, you know.
Good luck with that.
The farmer at the market provides a cucumber. The prostitute provides a hand job.
And they all go wee-wee-wee all the way home.
In the end, I got my money to stand and sell tiny $3.00 heads of lettuce to people who were desperately trying to figure out how to spend money to make them feel whole. I guess that’s what they call a “win-win” in this nutcase of an economy of ours.
After a day of selling shit to those who should be growing it, I’ve decided that a simple lazy tax would solve our nation’s economic woes. And it would go like this:
If you buy something like a zucchini or a blueberry you would be assessed a lazy-bastard tax of 100% of the purchase price. And, if it would make you feel better, you could get a little certificate with each purchase that you could hang on your chest that would read: I care so much that I’m willing to pay through the nose for it.
Okay, that might need some marketing. But if McDonald’s can sell death in a “Happy Meal,” I’m remaining hopeful about this whole marketing thing.
Or maybe I should just stick to painting houses.
Yeah, that’s it. And, as of Monday morning, I’m charging a whole lot more for it.