Saw this guy looking like he was going to kill everyone over the weekend. Upon closer inspection he was a dead ringer for fat face. I was going to go up to him but didn’t want anyone more than my girlfriend who dragged me there to know that I was at a Farmers Market early on a Saturday morning. I hate what I’ve become.
Well the cats out of the bag. Newsflash people: Not all of us here are full-time. Most have cube monkey jobs and others, like myself, need to do what we gotta do to get by. Selling homemade pasta is one of the things, along with giving baseball lessons to little shits, that is required for me to achieve the finer things in life like paying the rent and eating. And every penny is earned too, dammit. I’m not talkin’ about pleasure boatin’ or day sailin’. I’m talkin’ about workin’ for a livin’. I’m talkin’ about
sharkin’ pasta selling. You think I want to be out there hungover 8am every Saturday freezing my nuts off only to face off with some rich broad from the Main Line who grimaces and bitches about us not having a Gluten Free* alternative because she’s now on the new diet and I just have to stand there, smile like a jackass and take it up the pasta pooper? Shit no. But you do what you gotta do to survive.
Also the homemade pasta is delicious. If you’re in the Philly area check into Vera Pasta out of West Chester, especially if anyone in your family can be properly characterized as a guidos. One taste and you’ll think you’ve died and woke up in the Old Country.
*Ding Ding Ding! Exactly where my Gluten Free hatred started. Every. Fucking. Week at least 3 people ask for Gluten Free products, bitch about it when we don’t have it there and when I ask if they are Gluten Intolerant or have Celiac disease (pretend like I have it so I don’t offend them by asking) I get a response akin to “No, I’m just watching my weight and trying to be healthy”. Infuriating.