I love the farmer’s market. Other than Walmart, there’s simply no place you can go to get that warm, fuzzy feeling of smug superiority, and Walmart doesn’t feature Amish folks exhibiting their own special brand of eccentricity. At least, the Walmart in New Castle, Delaware doesn’t. (That particular Walmart is a true hotbed of intellectualism; did you graduate high school? 60% of the other shoppers didn’t, and as far as I can tell none of the employees. Also, it’s a good place to get shot, which every neighborhood SORELY needs.1)
The farmer’s market is great because it’s always “THE farmer’s market,” not “A farmer’s market,” even if it’s not entirely clear which one you mean. It’s as if the place has such gravitas that it ALWAYS warrants the definite article (because you’re DEFINITELY going to see some shiznit up ins). We have two major ones available to us: the one in New Castle, only a few miles from our house, and one in Boothwyn, PA, which is all the way up 495 and through some backroads. Getting to the one in New Castle requires you to go through the intersection of routes 273 and 13, which takes a minimum of 10 minutes, plus another 15 fighting your way through the parking lot because most of the folks who go to the farmer’s market are no smarter than the average sea anemone and have no concept of “not getting in the way.” (More on this in a bit.) As a result, it’s actually faster to get to the one in Boothwyn, particularly if you know the sneaky back way in that avoids the bulk of the parking lot idiots. Also the one in Boothwyn (namely, the Booth’s Corner Farmer’s Market) has an “Amish BBQ” (whatever that is) featuring good rotisserie chicken and a potato soup that we’re fond of that they haven’t served the last 4 freaking times we’ve gone.
We went on Saturday, and oh man the fat emphysemics were out in force. I haven’t seen that many oxygen tanks since I helped bury Natalee Holloway behind a scuba shop in Barcadera. (Too soon?) It’s always fun to wade your way through the sea of inhumanity and see someone you know (we ran into a friend from church), or someone who clearly is as overwhelmed by morons as we are (anyone with a college sweatshirt usually fits the bill). We got food at the BBQ (Rotisserie chicken, enjoyed by all) and I found a place selling Phils paraphernalia so I coughed up $16.99 for a Mike Schmidt tshirt in the totally hideous 80s uniform color scheme.
I’m pretty sure most of the people who shop or work there have rusty above-ground pools and/or trampolines in their backyards.
Footnote 1: In the 3.5 years that we’ve lived in our current location, we’ve had the wife of a university professor get STABBED TO DEATH a few blocks away (by the professor’s mistress and former student, who then went to a Jewish cemetery in north Wilmington and attempted to burn the knife and her clothes on the ground there), and another resident rape someone and then walk out onto the Delaware Memorial Bridge with the intent of ending his woes. We’re, um, hoping to move soon.
Oh, Matthew, that was mean. Bad. Too soon! Too soon.
But if it makes you feel any better, Sunday morning there was a shooting across the street, about 30 feet away. I woke up to the sirens and lights and looked out my window to find 3 bodies sprawled on the sidewalk. So, um, I’m feelin’ ya on the violence in the ‘hood.
Too soon? Nah! Get some backbone or enroll at VA Tech…
Our azz-whoopin’ state even went to go look for her in the form of “Texas Horny Paralegals”:
“There’s a cute one…”
“Not her.”
“There’s a another…”
“Not her.”
I can see why they gave up…