My friend P came up to me at the Local grocery, shaking his head and laughing.
"What?"
"Oh, just another hilarious "seminar" going on in the conference room. They're all laying on the floor on yoga mats, banging on some hippie drums and chanting."
"You know, I always forget that stuff like that even happens up there, since I never actually see it. I'm almost always working on the floor during 'class' times."
"You should make it a point to check them out. I don't think anything will ever beat the candlelight bat vigil, but I'm keeping my eye out."
"The what?"
"Candle light vigil. For the bats. You know, because they're all dying from that fungus that gets in their noses?"
"And their solution was-"
"Yeah."
"Wow."

"...Local Grocery is obviously trying to kill all of the Jews in town," said the Grocery Manager, hanging up the phone at his desk and looking completely exasperated.
Annie was doubled over at her desk, laughing.
"You did what now?" I asked, barging straight into the conversation because, well, how could I not?
"This woman just called, and because I couldn't find the ingredients list on the Vermontzah (this is a locally made matzah bread- in The Green Mountain State we are very into "local" products) she said the the Local Grocery is obviously trying to kill all the Jews. Mind you, the ingredients are listed, but I couldn't find them fast enough."
Oh, how I love crazy people when they're not talking to me.

The other night I had dinner at Barb and Tom's. Barb is my boss. She's just about my mom's age, but she and her husband Bob were into the sixties in a way that my parents never were. They are a hoot, to say the least. We ate in their garden, and Barb and I shared a gorgeous bottle of French rose'. We had to go in as soon as the sun went down, because it got cold right away.
Looking forward to a lot more of that. In the meantime, rather than wishing it would stay warm I'm trying to think about how much better it is for the maple farmers that it's getting cold again. The thing about sugar season is, as soon as the trees bud, it's over. So there's that.

"Can I help you find anything?" asked Sven, briefly interrupting our discussion of Peter Sellers.
"No. Every time I buy cheese here it's bad. I always buy imports and they've gone (she flailed her hands wildly)...off."
"Uh-huh" Sven replied, his brain shutting down.
"The cheese here is always bad."
"Yep."
"Can you tell me why that is?"
Neither of us answered. Sven turned on his heel, leaving a stack of brie and a couple of wheels uncut, and disappeared through the door leading into the kitchen. I paused momentarily, not making eye contact but not wanting her to corner Barbara, my boss, who was helping another customer. I flipped through the folder that has our price list, pretending to look hard at it, while silently praying that the woman would go away before Barbara was free from the other customer. The woman continued to look through the cheeses for several minutes before eventually wandering off to produce, presumably to look through all the of the fruit and veg that she hates and finds completely substandard.

A woman walked up while I was stocking cheese at the LG today.
"You have a lot of cheese here," she said.
"Yes we do," I replied, smiling since assuming that she was having trouble choosing.
"Lotsa Cancer," she said in an admonishing tone. She disappeared down the dairy aisle before I could even process the remark.
I've decided I need to start writing down the wisdom that our customers share with me.
Also, I need to start quoting the hippie parents I encounter on a daily basis here in The Green Mountain State.

"Sage, hold Willow's hand. Sage, I need you to stop ramming that wine stack with the cart. Sage, I need you to listen. Sage... Sage..."

Today's was "Cypress, come to papa."

Glad I have a day off tomorrow.

So I'm at work at the Local Grocery on Friday, and I am handing out samples of cheese to passing customers. This crazy-haired guy (picture Bob Ross from PBS, or any version of "nutty professor" that springs to mind) jumps back like I've offered him a plate of live rattlesnakes and goes
"No- I read in the paper that you shouldn't. Actually, it wasn't in the paper, but I read somewhere that it was no good."
"Uh... okay," I respond, backing away slowly.
"But you shouldn't listen to me anyway! Ha! Because I don't know anyth..."
I was already gone. Whoa.
On Saturday, I worked at the LG from 8am to 3 pm, then came home and got dressed in the b.h.'s suit, slicked my hair down, drew on a mustache, soul patch, and sideburns, and made my eyebrows much thicker and darker with the help of the same eye pencil, and headed off to work. I had fun and confused a few people and made money. Got home around midnight, and was surprised to find that I didn't feel all that bad after a fourteen hour day. Sunday I got to sleep in and didn't work until eleven. Came home to some lovely tomato soup (Note: Always use good sherry for cooking. Even at twenty bucks a bottle, a recipe is well worth it.) and various cheeses (my new favorite is an aged Gouda called "Ewephoria") with some crusty bread. Also had a couple Sierra Nevada Torpedos and then slept like a baby. Today I was up at ten, went for coffee while the b.h. had an interview, and ran into my friend Rob. We chatted for an hour or so, then the b.h. came back, and we left to find some lunch.
When we returned to our car, the meter had already expired, and there was a woman there writing us a ticket.
"You can just hand that right to me if you like," I said. I am all for rules and I have no trouble admitting when I am wrong. It's a point of pride for me, actually. I never give the people who have to write tickets a hard time because I am sure I wouldn't want that job.
Anyway, she turned to me, smiling, and said
"Oh! That's a terribly pessimistic attitude! Besides, I haven't printed it out yet," she turned the ticket-printing device toward me to demonstrate, "so you can just drive away."
"Really?"
"Really. Just go ahead."
"Thanks! Have a nice day!", I smiled. She smiled back and waved.

"What did she say?" asked the b.h., when I sat down. He had gotten straight into the car when we came out. I relayed the conversation to him, and he shook his head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears.
"Seriously?"

Yep, I think I like it here.