The Farmers Market

It is Sunday, I live in West Hollywood, the day is sunny, high in the low 70’s, the sky is cloudless and about 2 minutes and 25 seconds from my front door, just down the street on Melrose Place (so not at all like the Place from the TV show) is a Farmer’s Market. What is not to like! Tossing on a tank top(of course one that might be a tad too tight) a pair of tennis shoes(I grew up in Pittsburgh and all sports shoes were referred to as tennis shoes not sneakers),comfortable shorts (but again never too loose), my environmentally friendly cloth bag (in LA plastic bags are taboo), my Target sun glasses (Joe insists that we should spend some money on good sunglasses, but somehow I can’t get myself to do so) and I head out to support the local economy. I usually try to hit the Farmer’s Market around 8 am, when they open, as all of the produce is fresh and plentiful and most importantly there are few people in my way. Today, however I slept in and took way too much time to get to my destination. OMG!

Melrose Place is closed to traffic and the vendors are on both sides of the street about 2 years ago, the selection of vendors seemed to expand and now you can still purchase produce but about two thirds of the booths have nothing to with fruits and vegetables and a whole lot to do with nice skin a firm body, power sleeping, high fashion, homemade jewelry, wigs and how to become a best selling model). You know you are in a fancy schmancy neighborhood because prior to arriving at the entrance for the Market is a coffee boutique (use the word artisan or boutique and money loses its meaning) where you can purchase their house blend with no frills for $7.00 (everything else coffee wise goes up in price by $2 a shot). I have learned that arriving at the Market after 9 am is a dangerous action. It seems that baby strollers, the kind that can accommodate three babies but usually contain one infant abound. Mom or Dad is on the phone so he or she has little desire to watch where they are steering their Cadillac of strollers and often time bump into you.(More often then not they are pissed that you interrupted their phone call and intentionally wanted to jar the baby). Then there are the dogs on leashes (There is a huge sign at the entrance right next to the boutique coffee shop that says DOGS NOT PERMITTED DUE TO HEALTH HAZARDS) long enough for Dog Parent (In LA the word master is shunned and Mommy, Daddy or parent preferred), to be on one side of the street while the doggie is sniffing the butt of another dog on the opposite side. If you are intent on actually looking at the produce, witnessing a very hard to see leash is the last thing on your mind that is until your trip on it and fall. Perturbed that Doggie Mommy or Daddy must now tend to their Dog Child, no apologies are exchanged just rolling of the eyes and a passive aggressive sigh which when muttered sounds like go to hell. Lastly there are the 3 and 4 year old offspring of the Hipsters. While sipping their $7 to$10 cup of boutique coffee talking about last nights restaurant or next week’s trip away from the kids, not a single eye is focused on the Toddlers who finally being permitted to be a kid (no language, computer, math classes, no soccer, gymnastics, tennis lessons) are playing outside and a fierce game of tag you are it. Forgetting who is being tagged, usually some sticky hand has found a leg of a stranger or worse a rambunctious body either falls upon you or like the doggie leashes you trip over them. Chaos, crying ensues and Litigation attorneys circle you like ants at a picnic.

If you look at the demographics of the Farmer’s Market on Melrose Place,(even if you were an alien just landing on Earth) you wold know these people are supposedly very educated, very cool, and very wealthy. But if you then emerged yourself into the demographic by becoming a part of that crowd, you might come to some very troubling conclusions, so counter intuitive to what your eyes first told your brain. They say things happen in three’s, well today whoever THEY are hit the nail on the head. There are samples of the fruit to taste before you purchase any, but for hair extension, jewelry ridden mommy it would be no sample for her kids. She instead reached her hand, past my arm and an elderly older mans\’s waist and grabbed at strawberries to be sold. She told Jeffie (not Jeffry) to taste them too. Jeffie pushed past the older man nearly toppling him over and grabbed at three different strawberries never quite sure which one he wanted. The older man looked at the mother and said, stop him those are for sale. Mommy dearest looked at the man and said without missing a beat, his hands are clean. Man on his cell phone yelling at Allan, apparently on the other end of the phone was pissed about not getting the babe at the bar last night because Allan cock blocked him. Holding the phone in one hand, a stalk of celery and three tomatoes in the other hand doing a circus like juggling act, man on the phone pushes past two women placing his produce to the woman behind the table saying I am in a hurry here! Two women not happy with this tried to move his hand away. Man on the phone who had been cock blocked last night says, touch me again and I will sue you! Third incident (Ain’t three always a charm). A man is in a wheel chair he has his cloth bags neatly resting on each handle, all he wants to do is roll over to the peaches and grab a few purchase them and most likely move on. Mommy and Daddy each have a stroller right in front of the peaches. Man on the wheel chair says excuse me may I just get a few of those peaches. Both parents look at the man as they both are blocking the peaches and say as if rehearsed, the baby’s are learning about fruits just be patient.

I did not stay much longer, an am now pissed that I didn’t buy all that was on my shopping list. I had to exit this Farmer’s Market, really as quickly as I could. On the way back to my street in front a very expensive interior decorating store where chaises start at $4500 was a very disheveled woman with a sign saying I am hungry. I gave her one of my bags of plums and reached into my pocket for some money. Before I could grab a dollar or two another man about 10 feet away comes rushing toward me, he too on a wheelchair shouting at me, don’t feed her don’t give her money she gets a government check. As he approaches me he then shouts to me, I am the one who needs the food and money. I told him to share the fruit with her and that they both could debate how the money is split. As I walked away I was called a son of a bitch and Gay (I knew those shorts were a bit too tight) I then walked the remaining 1 minute and 15 seconds to my home and swore if I don not wake up before 8 on Sunday i will never ever go to the farmers market again!