Some Saturdays and Sundays, I sell strawberries.
Saturday, Berkeley Farmer's Market:
Blond 8-year-old boy whose progressive parents had apparently allowed to roam the market unconstrained, like a happy free-range chicken, before conscientiously accepting a ripe late-season strawberry that I held, tantalizingly, by its long stem in front of his face: "Is it organic?"
Sunday, Oakland Farmer's Market:
Black 8-year-old boy who was, under some unclear business arrangement, "helping" the guy selling eggs, mostly by criticizing his hairstyle, manner of speaking, and choice to display publicity material for area farms: "Why you advertising for other people? You got to advertise fo YO'SELF"
As I surveyed the field of strawberries before me, culling the specimens of the appropriate size, color, and stem length for the sample selection, I couldn't help but wonder: which kid was more annoying?
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