Pecked off…

Saturday morning in my world means a bike ride to the local artisans/farmers market.  This is pleasant, and allows me to pretend – just for a couple hours – that i live somewhere urban and upscale.  As it involves a modicum of physical exertion (25 miles of ass-pedaling), it also allows me to eat with reduced guilt.

The food-selection ritual involves walking slowly along the food vendor stalls, eyeing the daily specials, sniffing for things that tickle my tummy, and making sure i’ve evaluated all possible options before selecting the chosen one – My Saturday Brunch.  This weekend, it was the creperie that made my nostrils flare, pulling my body in a nearly erotic pirouette…

It was crowded, and there was a line.  In quick negotiations with my biking buddy, we agreed to split two crepes – a veggie and a raspberry/nutella dessert crepe…  He was dispatched to procure coffee, and i held the place in line.  Nice view of the crepe-making action, gorgeous morning, and all was pretty damn fine with the world.

[bump from behind] “Excuse me, are you in line?”

Nodding affirmation, i went back to watching crepe fabrication ballet.  [another bump from behind].  i turned my head, eyes partially closed, deploying the universal body language suggesting “back the fuck off”, and noticed the gaggle of suburban hens crowding my personal space.  The one who’d thwacked me with her purse said “oh, i just want to see what they’re doing“.

Sighing, i attempted to return to my zen-like trance, watching a family of crepe-making acrobats perform a flying circus of culinary contortions.  Scrape the griddle, pour the goo, swirl it with a delicate flourish, fold, fill, fold again…  Each crepe creation made my mouth water in anticipation of the foodgasm to come…

But.  Instead of getting into my happy place, i was subjected to incessant Color Commentary of the Obvious.  From three linear inches behind my right ear:  “Ooooh, look!  What’s he doing?  Did you see that?  He poured the batter out and made a perfect circle!  Is that fish?  What is that?  Is it cream cheese with some sort of fish?  It looks like fish.  Do you think it’s fish? I think it’s fish.  Maybe salmon….” 

Simulcast, from three linear inches behind my left ear: “Those are raspberries!  Oh, I hope they don’t run out!  Those look good!  What’s he spreading on the side?  Is that butter?  I think that’s some kind of ham.  Probably not fish.  Look!  He’s putting Nutella* on the raspberries!  I hope they don’t run out…”

There was a third party.  She was a Greek Chorus, echoing the cacaphony of insipid comments.  i continued to be bumped as they strained to get a better view.  i planted my feet firmly.  Stood erect and pushed my shoulders out to full width.  Did not give an inch when the line moved forward by one human body.  They were really getting on my tits…

Realizing that the “fish” was, in fact, prosciutto, and the “cream cheese” was a combination of feta and bleu cheese, i decided to call an audible at the line of scrimmage, and regardless of whether my companion returned in time, i was swapping out the veggie crepe for the prosciutto variety.  And DEFINITELY going to get raspberries.  And hope that i got the last fucking berry…

The “yap and bump” action continued.  i held my ground.  My companion returned.  Sensed my stressed out state of mind.  And without much prompting, quickly realized that it was the incessant chirping and bumping that had me grated.  Finally reaching the serving window, i ordered the prosciutto and cheese… and then slowly and deliberately asked for the raspberry nutella crepe**.

The young man said: “I’m sorry, we’re out of raspberries…” and before i could turn to my companion to coordinate our alternate selection, the hen party broke into simultaneous cacklage “Did you hear that they’re out of raspberries I just knew it well that girl said the other crepe place had run out too oh, I guess I can try the blueberry I had my heart set on raspberries do you think there are raspberries in the mixed berries? I could get the banana…..”.  It was so loud that i damn near had to use semaphore to check to see if the mixed berry option would be acceptable to my friend.

Once they settled down, i asked my friend – none too quietly – a favor.  “If i EVER turn into one of these, you must promise to just fucking shoot me!”


* Pronounced “nuh-TEL-la”, right?  Unless you are a functionally retarded hen, in which case you’ll call it “NEW-tel-la”.  About a hundred and fifty fucking times….

** “Oh, skip the cream cheese, i’m on a diet!” Bwa-ha-ha-haaaa!

28 thoughts on “Pecked off…

  1. Aw, you saved them from your wrath? I would have thought you’d have told them you had rode 25 miles to get there and if they didn’t back off and shut the fuck up, you were going to ride all over them! But that’s just me. 🙂 The description of those crepes have made me sufficiently hungry as to head for my kitchen. Thanks a lot! I’m dieting!

  2. The need for some people to fill every precious silence is indeed grounds for shooting them …… I promise to do the right thing for you if your friend fails at the last hurdle …….

  3. unbearable banishment – yes, Buckeye nature abhors a noise vacuum… (sigh)

    jenny – thank you… perhaps this is the secret to happiness. i write. people love me. hmmm…. so much less commitment than that relationship thing…

    rassles – blame kobe bryant. well, ‘pre-rape/giant engagement ring bribe’ kobe bryant…

    fragrant liar – i was a bit tired, and not quite on an endorphin high, or i might have taken it to the parking lot. figured there was no point in going whup ass on them. some folks never learn lessons… they’d have just been telling stories about me at the bridge club.

    alex – no, this is exactly why i shouldn’t have a concealed carry permit. don’t wanna go to jail and be rooming with something scary and hairy…

    DP – thank you. you are too kind….

    nursemyra – you’d have to resucitate me!

  4. ooooh, i definitely say “new-tell-uh”… blame it on my new york roots. also, as i discovered the magic that is costco, i also discovered gallons of nutella – so should the apocalypse come, i still have my nutella, coupled with graham crackers and peanut butter, to see me through.

    and 25 miles of pedaling?!?! that’s – awe inspiring. i’m trying to talk myself into riding to work…. 10 miles each way. i haven’t quite gotten there yet.

    also, when people are that close to me, i find that taking a step back and crunching their toes often provides the necessary room to maneuver.

  5. Shit … I say NEW-tel-la. But I can’t stand the stuff — some foods should just never be made into anything spreadable. Damn, now you’ve got me craving crepes and the nearest creperie is a mere 3 hours away …

  6. Oh, what a horror. I can’t stand people who invade my personal space while in a queue. I used to wear a backpack and when someone would lean against it, I leaned back and took a load of and let them carry my weight. They soon got the message. Sharp elbows do the trick too.

  7. Which is why I got a burrito at Folklife yesterday. There was nobody at the booth. Of course, they only had one menu item and one drink, and meat was nowhere to be found. But all the booths around them had long lines. I finished eating before I would have gotten to the window.

    Not a fan of folks crowding me, either. Of course, I just “accidentally” back into them with Ms. Scarlett.

  8. That is so funny because I almost had meltdown at my local farmer’s market on Saturday. We don’t have a creperie though–but we do have an AWESOME bluegrass band. Anyhow, I got in line at one stall where the woman in front of me wanted to discuss in minute detail every aspect of every salad dressing and salsa they had. I had to walk away before I exploded. Other worst thing–being behind people who can’t decide if they want to write a check or charge it. YOU’RE AT THE FREAKING FARMER’S MARKET–STUFF A TWENTY IN YOUR POCKET BEFORE YOU GET THERE!!!!!!!!!

    (sorry for the rant) 🙂

  9. stephanie – had to look that one up. zoicks! love the concept. HATE the word… i’d have grabbed them by the hair and pressed a face or two onto the crepe grill. ewww… that’s pretty nasty, even for me…

    daisymae – i honestly don’t know how to pronounce. i DO know how to eat it…. it was more the 150 repetitions, in a whiney, nasal-tone that had me wanting to stick an industrial (Costco) sized vat down her crepe-hole. i would LOVE to bike to work, but it’s not safe… unless they’d let me ride on the interstate, the roads are too dangerous in these parts…

    uncle keith – ah, works for men. but i’m a chick. and we don’t fart. especially on command. sorry… tis true.

    tNb – as i said, i’m not sure really how to pronounce it. i only like it drizzled on fruit as part of a crepe. have tried using it for alternate purposes (dripped on asparagus, with swiss cheese and ham, in hummus, or on garlic bread) and it simply doesn’t work!

    lksn – the back pack trick would work. i was pretty sweaty from the bike ride, but that wasn’t enough to deter hungry hens. should have stomped on them. or turned and literally growled at them… maybe next week.

    silverstar – i often pass on the really tasty stuff if the lines are too long, but not this time… they were simply too gorgeous and tasty! i need to start carrying a cane… and start thwacking people with it!

    hereinfranklin – farmers markets are no place for food snots or credit cards. you go because it’s fresh and local (and potentially less toxic). as frustrating as it is to watch, i bet it’s much worse on the poor folks manning the stalls…

  10. ‘Fessing up….I say New-tella also. But, NUT-ELLA or GNU-TELLA, it doesn’t matter ‘cuz it tastes like shite and could probably give vegemite a run for its money.

    I liked Uncle Keith’s strategy, although I’d more likely take the direct approach and tell that gaggle of no-minds “Hey! Would you all please shut the fuck up!”

    The only thing I can think of that’s worse that line-bumpers is the yappy shit for brains kicking my seat from behind in the movie theater. I’ve been known to turn around, administer the 1,000 yard stare and say, “Stop kicking my seat!”.

    Right. Rant off.

  11. cacaphony. GREAT word.

    Farmer’s markets always seem like a good idea, but you just clearly show us its just another day in a god damn outdoor food court. HAHA!

  12. I would have developed a twitch and twitched into them a few times.

    @ Rob, NUTella is one of the nastiest con-jobs that has ever been committed by BIG FOOD. Vegemite is the ambrosia of the Gods.

  13. rob – it’s shite but it makes me feel all funny in my basement when drizzled over fruit in the midst of a tasty, light and dreamy crepe… and i ‘m starting to wonder if my pronunciation is just the hillbilly-midwestern gal coming out loud and clear…

    dorothy black – welcome to the park! enjoy your comments over at the gimcrack! yes – zen. that usually gets me through. iPod — some Annie Lennox — often helps. but i was raging with hormonal imbalance. i’ll be the first to admit that THIS is why there should not be a concealed carry law in the states….

    sweetlife – *snort* outdoor food court. yep. i think i wanna have your baby…

    archie – for all my swagger, i really want to be nice. stepping on people – even assholes – goes against my grain. i might have to try this vegemite shit…

    crying bull – so very glad to see you here! there’s wisdom in the avoidance maneuver…

  14. The Princess made crepes for all of our guests this weekend. She is 9. There was no fat-assed pushing in the B&B kitchen, however, she does call it NEWTELLA.
    What the hell, she makes a mean crepe.

    BTW, banana, strawberry and nutella was the flavor o’ the day.

  15. missy – banana, strawberry with hazelnut-chocolate paste (however the fuck it’s pronounced) makes me happy…. she’s a good kid! still looking at weekends for a trip to your new B&B!

  16. mmmmmm nutella and raspberry.
    mmmmmm nutella and raspberry.
    mmmmmm nutella and raspberry.
    i would have jumped over that counter and hugged and caressed and totally satisfied the creator of that crepe in any manner he or she wanted.

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