I Survived The Farmers Market
When I first walk into the farmers market, I get a bad vibe almost right away. It seems like there are so many good vibes (organic vibes, vegetable vibes, vegan vibes) I feel like the only vibe left over for me to have is a bad one, and I worry this whole experience will be a disaster. These do not feel like my people, and I suspect everyone can tell I don’t belong here. “Imposter!” they’re all thinking, “you don’t even know what arugula is!” I already miss the mall.
I do give myself a pat on the back for even making it here though. Walking around among all these folks buying their daily groceries has me feeling more connected to my fellow city-dwellers, all of us just trying to stay healthy and support our local farmers or something. (Wait, where are these farmers coming from exactly? I’ve never shared a taxi with a guy in overalls carrying a pitchfork and walking a pig before. Hmm, maybe the farmers are faking it too.)
Just being outside at 11 a.m. on a Sunday morning without a hangover (okay, only a tiny hangover) makes me feel as though I deserve some kind of award. I could use a coffee though, is there a Starbucks at this thing? One gold medal and one vanilla latte is all I ask.
At least there are some pretty cute guys. Does everyone ride their bike here, because I did not get the memo about all the sexy spandex attire. Yikes, there are some really not-cute guys too! Sweet mother of god, shower much? I’m just going to go ahead and make a sweeping statement that there are exactly two kinds of guys at the farmers market: unfairly hot guys who could grate organic cheese using their abs, and dirty dreadlocked guys who could grow organic cheese under their arms. Where do I belong in this spectrum!? I feel like I’m seconds away from an existential crisis. I knew I should have just gone to the grocery store.
Okay, so what should I buy here? Nothing too heavy, I kind of have my heart set on In-N-Out later. What’s that one amazing diet food everyone is always raving about? Kale? I know I definitely heard someone say if you drink nothing but kale smoothies for, like, a month, you wind up looking like a Calvin Klein underwear model. I’m not sure my blender would know what to do with anything other than ice, tequila and margarita mix though. I’ve certainly never asked it to make anything else. But I mean, if kale is the key to Marky Mark abs, I don’t think I have any other choice. What did I come here for, if not that?
Kale, kale, kale… Wait. Is this it? Kale: $1.57 per bunch. Wow, it’s just lettuce? I would have thought it would be more exotic looking. This can’t be the super-chic vegetable everyone’s been raving about, can it? What a let-down! I’m not even going to bother looking for dragon fruit later, my imagination is probably completely off-base with that one! Here I am imagining kale is some sort of, I don’t know, rare iridescent jungle flower and that dragon fruit might involve some sort of Game of Thrones situation — and it’s basically just fancy lettuce and a deformed apple. People will really buy into anything, won’t they?
Alright, what else is here? I’m not leaving without buying something, or else no one will ever believe I came. Ew, what is Nuttin’ Butter? I have a hard time believing that even comes from a farm and it sounds disgusting. Nuttin’ Butter: We bust our nuts to make you better butter! Gross. I will forgo anything that sounds like it is potentially a semen-based food product.
Oh cute, flowers! Since I’m clearly not going to eat anything here, maybe I’ll just get some flowers to spruce up my apartment, add a little color. These hydrangeas look nice! Oh, look at me, knowing what hydrangeas are! Am feeling so incredibly mature and sophisticated right now! I’ll just go buy these and be on my way!
“Those are a beautiful choice, sir! Are these flowers for some lucky lady?”
Are these flowers for some lucky lady? Yes asshole, me! I’m the lucky lady! I’m so lucky that I got to come here to the farmers market and have some fucking florist judge me for being single, when I could have just gone to a restaurant and had someone make me a Bloody Mary and scrambled eggs, that’s how lucky I am. And “lady”? Who are you trying to kid, buddy? You can’t swing a sack of organic potatoes in this place without hitting a homosexual in his perfectly sculpted, spandex-covered ass, and you’re still going to ask me if these hydrangeas are for a lucky lady? Bitch, please.
“No they’re for me. Gay, single, really-regretting-coming-here me. Do you take Amex?”
Why is he laughing at me? First he judges me and then he laughs in my face? Um, sorry dude, you’re not my dad, you’re not allowed to do that! Okay, apparently they do not take credit card here. Farmers market isn’t going to be a ‘thing’ much longer if they don’t get with the 21st century! Seriously, why are people so obsessed with this place? I’m taking my goddamn flowers, getting out of here, and getting my double-double with cheese. The farmers market can go fuck itself.
This post was originally featured on Thought Catalog.