All that for $80?! You must be kidding.

I do not think that I generally engage in age-ism but today I revert to my snarling evil big-sister persona and curse the day that I worked with a 14 year-old girl. It's not her fault that I ended up working with her but that of the idiot asshole, Luke [I've never even met him], who decided not to show up for work. Now, it is highly possible that the schedule was changed without his knowledge and the fact that he was supposed to work the Portland Farmer's market today may not have been relayed. (Recently I found that I was working days that I didn't have scheduled and removed from days that I did.) However!

I arrived at work at 5:55 a.m. and began counting and sorting breads and pastries with my new-favorite-co-worker Irvin. (We had a discussion on Thursday when we worked the Pearl District market that we should always work together because we're so cool, competent, and both 28]. As we are doing our duties, Irvin informs me that today is his last day because he got a high paying job that starts Monday. Fuck. But oh well, he needs the money to move to San Francisco and we have one glorious last day selling breads and taking smoke breaks.

Alas.

At 6:30 the Fourteenie shows up and languorously begins counting her pastries in our work space. She has no idea where her breads are and since she's 14, she can not drive the van to the market. Still no sign of Luke.

Irvin and I have our van nicely packed, step outside for a quick cig, and Fourteenie's sister comes to tell me that she called the market manager and I must now accompany lil Miss Vapid to the Portland market and that the manager's brother will assist Irvin. Well, the brother is shit at customer service and Irvin said that the last time they worked together, they were very very annoyed with each other by the end of the day. We exchange frustrated looks and Irvin leaves for the Hollywood market. My market.

I single-handedly count all the breads, load them into the van and usher Fourteenie into the passenger bucket-seat. We get to the market at 8:10 (the market begins at 8:30) and begin frantically unloading. After the shit is out of the van I drive to the garage, lock the van, and run back to our stand. Fourteenie has set up the tent (nice) but then she begins arranging the pastries just so and I begin on the bread. By the time the market opened, 95 percent of our stock was still in trays and I was pissed. After about an hour of simultaneously selling bread straight from the trays and arranging a lovely display, Fourteenie asks "would you mind if I took a short break?" Um, yes I fucking mind!

Instead I said, "Yeah, I'd prefer it if you'd help me get the bread out."

So, throughout the day I am stocking our nice baskets and trying to be genuinely enthused for customers while little miss checks her text messages and stands with her hands on her hips and stares vacantly at lord knows what. (Jesus, I just spelled vacantly like this: facantly, and then had to look it up because it looked weird. Not a good sign)

I'm not even going into the unloading back at the bakery process because it involves me working and her not and me getting annoyed and her laughing stupid and breathlessly. Nice girl, but a bit on the "slow" side.

If I didn't need the money so bad, I would tell the manager to shove her job and the 50 leftover loaves of bread directly up her ass. But I won't. I'll probably have to work with the child again, but at least I know to come prepared to sweat. Yes, my face is flushed with exertion and the girl's with youthful, slacker vigor.

10 hours x 8 dollars=SHIT

Oy.

I did come home with this loot, though:
About 8 loaves of bread
1 huge bag of cheese corn
1 huge bag of kettle corn
1 small stinky wedge of cheese
1 bundle of peonies

Goddess/God/Deity bless beer, bare feet, hot running water, and contact solution! Amen.