My favorite job was when I was under the age of 12. I was really good at selling Christmas trees. Living in a rapidly gentrifying area in the middle of a city full of people who didn't want to drive out to the burbs to buy trees can be a goldmine. That, plus Christmas trees are a little hard to price. I think as long as you know the name of the tree and tell someone it will hold water well through Christmas, you could charge an arm and a leg and no one would be any the wiser (this may be the closest I ever got to sympathizing with Kenneth Lay). I worked for a farmer who would bring the trees in from West Virginia and people often thought I was his 12 year old son (in reality my mom had finagled the job probably in violation of a million child labor laws). It was, in my life, the best sales job I had ever held (though honestly the only other sales job was hawking tomatoes, apples and apple cider from same farmer in the non-Christmas months).
I got to do all that because my parents had been smart enough to buy a house near the Eastern Market, a farmer's market stuck in the middle of Capitol Hill.
My two younger sisters ended up working there as well on the weekends, working for one of three farmers who brought their fresh produce for sale (at a hefty markup, Christmas trees not being the only thing you can overcharge city folk for).
There was the old Greek family who had a produce stand where my mom swears that the wife of the team would peel grapes for me (I don't doubt that I would make such a ridiculous request as a kid, just that it is really possible to peel grapes).
There was also the guy who every Thanksgiving would sell my mom a turkey that weighed far more than the eating ability of the assembled.
It's a wonderful place and hopefully this well be a brief hiccup in an otherwise great history.
4 comments:
Nice reflection on eastern market gordy. It is so sad and there are so many memories of that place. Market lunch, sausage and egg on homemade, the nasty fish guys, the pottery studio (did that survive?)..it sounds like it will be rebuilt but will it ever have the same feeling inside?
Peeling your grapes? Wow. I used to wonder how you became such a world class softy but somethings are starting to become clearer.
Toughen up.
This is a wonderful piece of writing.
I loved reading this, Sonny. Wanted you to know that Mary Calomiris didn't peel grapes for you at your request, but because she thought they'd be easier for you to eat. That was in the old days when one COULD easily peel a grape (and get rid of the seed, too). Those were the days!
Post a Comment