Terrible Analogies

What happened to the local Farmers Market?

There was once a time when farmers from all over would gather together to sell their produce directly to the consumer.  At the Farmers Market you used to be able to buy endless varieties of heirloom tomatoes, gorgeous apples perfectly ripe right off the tree, thick bunches of rarely seen mushrooms, purple peppers, deep green zucchini, and dark red raspberries.

But that was then, when the Farmers Market was just that; a market for local farmers.

Now it’s a depressing amalgamation of people selling doughnuts, necklaces, home-pressed CDs, incense holders, massages, Boba drinks, and used books.

Sure, there’s still fresh food to be had, but the offerings are a shadow of their former selves, and are usually relegated to a distant corner of the market.  The people selling food are typically not the farmers themselves, and the variety of food is no longer there.  What I now see are the same depressing boxes of apples, oranges, avocados, carrots, and hot-boxed tomatoes.

I failed to noticed the slow decline of the Farmers Market until the damage was already done and the heart was ripped out of what once was a thriving community-driven event.  I used to look forward to going to the Farmers Market, anxious to pick up baskets of fresh food (I mourn the loss of those tomatoes the most).  But now, I’m lucky to find edible artichokes and cantaloupes that haven’t been squeezed to death.

When I go to a Farmers Market, I don’t want to be served greasy food from [insert far-off country here].  I expect to find salt-of-the-earth farmers selling food that they themselves grew in their gardens.  It’s those people that I want to support, not the hipster food truck vendor.

Rare are the times when I indulge in fast food. I know it’s too fattening, high in sodium, and sprinkled with more than a fair amount of extraneous byproducts.

But I do love a good burger.

Last month I caved in and visited Burger King for lunch.  It wasn’t a case of, “Man, I could go for a burger,” but rather, “I either get a burger or I bludgeon my co-workers to death with a dull Sharpie.”  You know…a need as opposed to a want.

And so I stepped out of the office under the guise of “I need to help a tech guy across the hall with a problem”, jumped into my car and hit the drive-thru.  I get back to my desk and unwrap my “burger”, only to discover that I’ve been duped.  Had.  Conned.  Swindled, even.

What I paid for was a hamburger.  What I received was an overcooked chicken sandwich.

Needless to say, I was crushed.  So distraught was I that I wrote Burger King a letter decrying their staff, their integrity, and I believe I might have even debased somebody’s mother in one of the later, longer-winded paragraphs.

Hitting the SEND button I felt a bit better about the situation.  I still was not fully healed from the traumatic experience, but the cathartic exercise helped to negate some of the more hostile feelings I was harboring.

Last week I received a response from Burger King.  It wasn’t in the form of e-mail, but an actual letter.  Along with the letter was a coupon for a free hamburger.

Through this ordeal I’ve learned a very valuable lesson; If you insult somebody’s mother, you get free stuff.

If there’s one thing that our son has taught us, it’s that things go better with applesauce.

Cheese, fish, noodles, chicken, hotdogs, crackers, apples, broccoli, sandwiches, bananas, cereal, filet mignon – all apparently taste better once dunked into a single-serving container of applesauce.

Who knows?  Perhaps he’s on to something…

Even though this past work week contained a mere four days, it still felt hellishly long.  I think I’ll reward myself with a bag of Doritos and an ice cold Corona this weekend…

Hope everyone has a great weekend. See you on Monday!

I’ve seen a double-yolked egg, a two-headed snake, a double entendre, a double-decker bus, a double play, a 2×4, double seating, a twin turbo, a two-for-one sale, dual action formula detergent, dos equis beer, double mint gum, Twin Peaks, a double feature, a double header, two turntables (and a microphone), double parking, two for flinching, two to tango and Tea For Two.  I’ve even had second thoughts, second sight, second looks, a second glance, a second to think, and have even gone to second base, double-downed in Vegas, have had two pennies to rub together, double nickels on the dime, and a two dollar bill.

But it wasn’t until last night when I opened up a package of Top Ramen and saw this:

Two packets of flavorings!

What do you think?  Is this some sort of a sign?  Should I go out and buy a lottery ticket tomorrow?