A Trip to the Farmers Market

Posted on September 19, 2010

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I have three high school friends (Susan, Judy, Phyllis) driving down from Philly to visit me this weekend.  In honor of the occasion, I decided to make a trip to the local farmers market, to bask in the whole touchy-feeliness of all that fresh, organic produce and homemade baked goods.  That way, my friends could avail them of great wholesome food while awaiting the pizza delivery man. 

I’ve never been to the farmers market here in in Arlington.  I always wake up on Saturday morning, drink my coffee and read the newspaper with my husband Dan, and then zip off to the gym.  Usually, somewhere about halfway through reading an article about the Kardashians on the treadmill, I think, “Damn.  I forgot the farmers market.  Again.”  This (with the exception of Dan, who arrived on the scene a little over four years ago) has been happening for as many years as the farmers market has been in business. 

This morning was different.  I raced out of the house at 8:30AM and drove to the vicinity of the courthouse, where the market is.  Because of my complete inability to orient myself in space or on land, I was convinced that I would never find the market and would end up defeated and in a state of non-organic, Safeway-shopping hell.  This belief made me jittery and, even when I saw tents and people, I was still unsettled.  So much so, that I was unable to back into a parking space after four attempts.  The parking space was in front of a café, and, with each unsuccessful attempt, I imagined dozens of happy, relaxed latte drinkers staring out the window at the moron parker.  I fled the scene before someone came running out to offer assistance. 

I found another parking space that didn’t involve my ability to back up into it, jumped out of my car and remembered that I had no change in my wallet, and only a five dollar bill.  I scrounged around in the drink cup of the car, found a coffee-stained quarter, plunked it into the meter.  I now had 15 minutes to shop and $5.00 to do it with.  I know what you are thinking. Your thoughts involve ATMs, right?  When I am agitated, I don’t think about things like that. 

I rushed across the street to discover that the tents I saw were the weekly craft show.  The farmers market was on the other side of the courthouse complex.  I ran past the vendors, got to the correct market, and realized that $5.00 wasn’t enough to buy much of anything.  Plus I only had about seven minutes left. I quickly decided that the #1 item I wanted was organic eggs, still warm from the feathers of the happy, frolicking, grain-and- bug-eating chickens on some local, family farm.  I raced around to all the tents and there it was:  one local farm selling eggs, among other items.  I planted myself in front of the woman at the table.  “I’ll have a dozen eggs!” I shouted triumphantly.  She pointed to the man next to me, who was paying for the two cartons he had in his hand. 

“Sorry, he just bought the last ones.”  I glared at him.  Like he needed two dozen eggs?  Who needs two dozen eggs at once?  Easter is way over, buddy. He was probably a lobbyist for some snack food company that was poisoning children, and he was buying my eggs.  He ignored me.  I had to cut my glaring short because I now had less than two minutes to get back to my car.  I whirled around and raced back to my car.  Then I headed to the gym.  It was a lot safer there.

 

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