Things I'm not gonna take
Dec. 6th, 2023 03:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
offcntrIt was late last Sunday afternoon when the guy came into my booth, all excited. I talked to [other potter], who said I should skip all the other booths and just come here, he said, And she was right!
(Pause for a moment to set the scene. He's a bearded fellow, my age or a little younger, wearing a Central American woven poncho/hoody top, beaded medicine bag, jeans and stompy boots, carrying a woven basket of mysterious content.)
My partner loves chickens, and this creamer is perfect! It's the cobalt blue-line hen and chicks, one of my oldest patterns. It's $20, one of the cheapest items in my booth (this will be important later). He also wants to know if I have a butter dish to match, but I don't.
Before I buy it, I have to ask: are you willing to trade? Sorry, I'm not, I tell him. Well, let me tell you what I have to trade, and see if any of it interests you! First up, I've got spiced grape jelly, made from our own grapes! I tell him I can my own jams and jellies, and in fact have grape in the pantry right now. Well, I've also got cannabis blossoms, and cannabis edibles! I kinda make a cross with my index fingers, like warding off a vampire, and say no, really, I don't use any of that stuff. Well, I'll be around for a while yet, in case you change your mind, he says as he leaves.
Less than an hour later, he's back. Would you take $15 for it? he asks. No, I wouldn't I don't trade and I don't dicker. I feel my prices are more than reasonable, keep them as low as I can. Well, that bums me out. You won't trade, you won't bargain, it really makes me feel bad.
I tell him I'm not responsible for his emotional state, but he continues to try and guilt me into giving in. I finally say, "It's the end of a long weekend at Market following a particularly difficult week, and I really don't have the spoons for this." At which point he grumpily gets out his third-world import money pouch and counts out four five-dollar bills. I wrap up the pitcher for him, and watch him leave.
So I go back to [potter's] booth and tell her the story. We both laugh uproariously, and she says she wouldn't have sent him to me if she'd known. She plans to use "I'm not responsible for your emotional state" herself some day. We talk a little, then I head back to work.
Some time later, [potter] comes into my booth. You know that guy? she asks. He came back to my booth to tell me you were really grumpy, and I should warn people of that before I send them to your booth. And then reassured me that I was one of the least grumpy people she knew.
sigh.
(Pause for a moment to set the scene. He's a bearded fellow, my age or a little younger, wearing a Central American woven poncho/hoody top, beaded medicine bag, jeans and stompy boots, carrying a woven basket of mysterious content.)
My partner loves chickens, and this creamer is perfect! It's the cobalt blue-line hen and chicks, one of my oldest patterns. It's $20, one of the cheapest items in my booth (this will be important later). He also wants to know if I have a butter dish to match, but I don't.
Before I buy it, I have to ask: are you willing to trade? Sorry, I'm not, I tell him. Well, let me tell you what I have to trade, and see if any of it interests you! First up, I've got spiced grape jelly, made from our own grapes! I tell him I can my own jams and jellies, and in fact have grape in the pantry right now. Well, I've also got cannabis blossoms, and cannabis edibles! I kinda make a cross with my index fingers, like warding off a vampire, and say no, really, I don't use any of that stuff. Well, I'll be around for a while yet, in case you change your mind, he says as he leaves.
Less than an hour later, he's back. Would you take $15 for it? he asks. No, I wouldn't I don't trade and I don't dicker. I feel my prices are more than reasonable, keep them as low as I can. Well, that bums me out. You won't trade, you won't bargain, it really makes me feel bad.
I tell him I'm not responsible for his emotional state, but he continues to try and guilt me into giving in. I finally say, "It's the end of a long weekend at Market following a particularly difficult week, and I really don't have the spoons for this." At which point he grumpily gets out his third-world import money pouch and counts out four five-dollar bills. I wrap up the pitcher for him, and watch him leave.
So I go back to [potter's] booth and tell her the story. We both laugh uproariously, and she says she wouldn't have sent him to me if she'd known. She plans to use "I'm not responsible for your emotional state" herself some day. We talk a little, then I head back to work.
Some time later, [potter] comes into my booth. You know that guy? she asks. He came back to my booth to tell me you were really grumpy, and I should warn people of that before I send them to your booth. And then reassured me that I was one of the least grumpy people she knew.
sigh.