Oh, So That's Why They Call It Spadefish
We're back in the seafood business.
It comes and goes, depending upon whether we have a driver coming up from the Coast.
As of last Friday, we have a driver. We'll see how long he lasts.
I've got the feeling he'll finish out the season for us. He's been excited about making the run and was excited after his first trip. He was, as they say, "psyched".
I've added a new twist to the ocean-based themepark I've got set up by the side of the road: a huge banner that proclaims: FRESH SEAFOOD.
I had two last Saturday, so I faced one toward the parking lot, meaning, toward approaching customers, and I faced the other toward the street. The one toward the street really brought the customers in.
I mean, brought the customers in like nothing I've seen before. Not the FRESH PRODUCE sign, not the balloons, not the colorful used car lot pennents, not the Broadwing intern dressed up like a giant lettuce. And the people it brought in, they were of a somewhat different, shall we say, demographic group.
None of the new faces we saw on Saturday morning had just stepped out of a Volvo. Au contraire. The new faces were more, um, down home and more, um, colorful.
No freaks choking down granola and whining about the rainforests. No, these were actual homo sapians walking around the parking lot of the co-op, buying a bag of shrimp or mackeral and then checking out the other market offerings. Its as though we've finally struck upon a cure for what ails most organic farmer's markets: that sense that you're drowning in a very small pool of WASPy liberals who are just itching to tell you al about the herbal laxative they've just discovered. That feeling that everyone is going to break into a rousing version of Crosby, Stills & Nash's Our House while simultaneously doing the same yoga poses in some twisted and progressive Busby-Berkeley routine dedicated to world peace.
This was more like North Carolina sans crystals, and we all remarked on how refreshing it was.
Fish, I can only conclude, is the great commonality that will bring all people together. Lions will lie down with lambs, rastas will rub elbows with NASCAR fans, and black and white will live together in harmony, if only people spend more time shopping for fish.
It comes and goes, depending upon whether we have a driver coming up from the Coast.
As of last Friday, we have a driver. We'll see how long he lasts.
I've got the feeling he'll finish out the season for us. He's been excited about making the run and was excited after his first trip. He was, as they say, "psyched".
I've added a new twist to the ocean-based themepark I've got set up by the side of the road: a huge banner that proclaims: FRESH SEAFOOD.
I had two last Saturday, so I faced one toward the parking lot, meaning, toward approaching customers, and I faced the other toward the street. The one toward the street really brought the customers in.
I mean, brought the customers in like nothing I've seen before. Not the FRESH PRODUCE sign, not the balloons, not the colorful used car lot pennents, not the Broadwing intern dressed up like a giant lettuce. And the people it brought in, they were of a somewhat different, shall we say, demographic group.
None of the new faces we saw on Saturday morning had just stepped out of a Volvo. Au contraire. The new faces were more, um, down home and more, um, colorful.
No freaks choking down granola and whining about the rainforests. No, these were actual homo sapians walking around the parking lot of the co-op, buying a bag of shrimp or mackeral and then checking out the other market offerings. Its as though we've finally struck upon a cure for what ails most organic farmer's markets: that sense that you're drowning in a very small pool of WASPy liberals who are just itching to tell you al about the herbal laxative they've just discovered. That feeling that everyone is going to break into a rousing version of Crosby, Stills & Nash's Our House while simultaneously doing the same yoga poses in some twisted and progressive Busby-Berkeley routine dedicated to world peace.
This was more like North Carolina sans crystals, and we all remarked on how refreshing it was.
Fish, I can only conclude, is the great commonality that will bring all people together. Lions will lie down with lambs, rastas will rub elbows with NASCAR fans, and black and white will live together in harmony, if only people spend more time shopping for fish.
What kind of pirate am I? You decide!
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