On farmers' markets

-WTF.

I have a rule about going to the farmers’ market: if I am there and the cover band is playing, I’ve fucked up.

I’ve fucked up because it means this is what’s going down:

• A person with intense and misguided feelings about sodium lauryl sulfate is butchering The Cranberries’ Zombie at 10 am.

• Young couples with untrained ‘doggos’ let their animals roam on a loooooooooooooong leash around the market while they eat pies in thoroughfares with their elbows out like they’re doing the chicken dance.

• Youths (yes, I am old enough to call them youths now) who met while drinking heavily the night before and don’t want the night to end have shown up unshowered, full of hope and in search of caffeine while trying to get to know the other person in the harsh light of day.

• Millennials with kids are meeting up with their other Millennial friends with kids wearing Lululemon while pushing their prams side by side while being spatially unaware and blocking off access to every store they ooooooh at.

• The people who watch too many cooking shows with no discernable cooking skills hold producers ransom with inane questions like, “How would you cook the garlic?” or “Do you think I could get away with not freezing your preservative-free sausages if I’m not going to eat them until next week?”

• International students in head-to-toe luxury brands are squealing at the sight of insects on fruit while demanding organic produce.

I make it a general rule to get in and out before 9.30am because I need the 30-minute buffer in case some running event has finished that morning. I get there, pay my two-dollar entry fee to keep the markets running, buy my food for the week and get the fuck out. I do not chit-chat. I do not dilly-dally. I don’t buy a coffee and hang out in front of the bakery pinching my chin wondering if I want the cinnamon scroll or the gochujang twist. I don’t ask to taste every single hot sauce at a stall and walk away saying it’s not good for my gastritis. I don’t make small talk about bees or mushrooms or berries. In and out. My record at the farmers’ market is 12 minutes. Full bags, empty wallet, home.