THE MUFFIN INCIDENT

Working at a market stall is interesting.

You come across so many different people, from all walks of life.  Different ages, different sizes, different religions, pierced, tattooed, Collingwood supporters and just plain weird.

I don’t give a shit about any of that.  If you want to buy some of my product, your money’s all the same to me.

I do, however, take exception to people that complain about price, or try to haggle with me.  To be honest, I find it quite insulting.

Keep in mind that nothing on my stall is over $10, right?  So when someone complains that the price is too high, it’s usually met with me saying ‘It’s all right love.  If you can’t afford it, just move on.’ 

This usually snaps people back into reality, because let’s be honest: if you’re looking at my stall, you’re interested.  If you can’t spare the change, you just move on quietly.  I don’t mind.  It’s okay.  Just don’t complain unnecessarily about it.  You’re just fucken embarrassing yourself.  Really.

Then, there are the people that try to haggle.  The ones that wanna buy a $6 cake for $4.  This is usually met with me stating: ‘this is not a trash n’ treasure stall love.  The prices are as marked.  If you can’t afford them, please move on and have a nice day.’

It’s in some people’s nature to haggle.  They’ve always got to get what they feel is a bargain.  I love it when they say to me ‘I won’t buy it if you don’t drop the price’.  Really?  Oh no! How am I going to cope without that extra $2?  How am I going to make my mortgage payment this month? How am I going to afford the petrol I need to get home? Oh no!

Really? 

Fuck off.

You know  nothing about me.  Don’t try to put a value on the worth of my products and my goods.  That’s my job.  Buy it or fuck off.

I do, however, have a soft spot for kids. 

They have no idea the value of money.  Some kids come up, and they’re looking at the prices and counting the money in their hand and traumatising over what they can buy with their change.

I usually give them something within reason, if they have money close enough.  Who cares?  I’d rather give a little leeway to kids that are trying to do the right thing, as opposed to fuckers that are trying to rip me off.

That was until The Muffin Incident.

So, picture this if you will.

It’s a beautiful, sunny day beside the lake at Nagambie, and I’ve enjoying a busy, profitable day (for which I am truly thankful).

So this little fat kid, who I’m guessing was about 10 or 11, came up to the stall, and was checking out the range of muffins.

‘What’s that one?’ he points a stubby little finger at one of the boxes.

‘It’s a beetroot chocolate muffin, love.  A dollar fifty.’

Now, I will point out that I’m renowned for my beetroot choc muffins.  They’re a regular at my stall each market, and I usually sell out.  Fucken bam.

Anyway, back to the fat kid.

‘I’ll have one.’

‘Sure.’ Something stirred within me. The shackles rose on my neck, and I felt suddenly wary about this kid.  ‘Now, its beetroot and chocolate love, so it’s not going to taste like chocolate.  It’s going to taste a little like… raspberry.  Are you sure you don’t want a plain chocolate one?’

‘That’s okay.  One of them.’ He grunted, pointing to the beetroot.

‘Sure.  That’s a dollar fifty, thanks.’ I said, holding out my hand.  He raised his hand over mine, and dropped fifty cents into my hand.  ‘A DOLLAR FIFTY, love.  Not Fifty.’  He raised his hand over mind, and dropped another fifty into my hand.  ‘I need fifty more cents champ.’ Something was up here.

‘That’s all I have.’ He said, not looking up at me.

‘Okay mate.  No problems.’ I said, handing him the muffin.  ‘You take it and enjoy it, but know this: if you’re lying to me, karma will bite you on the arse.’

With that, he glanced at me and was gone without a fucken thank you. 

Hope you choke on it, you ill-mannered little fucker.

A short while later, I had a few customers at my stall, and the little fat kid returns.

He marches straight up to the stall, pushes my customers out of the way, and barks ‘What’s this?’ and waves my muffin in my face.

‘What the fuck?’ I mutter, quite taken aback by his outburst.  ‘What are you asking me?’

‘What’s this!’ he raises his voice at me.

‘It’s a muffin?’ are you a fucken idiot or something.

‘Yeah, but what’s in it?’

‘I told you.  Chocolate and beetroot…’

‘It tastes like crap! I want my money back!’ he demands, and slams the half eaten muffin down on my table.

Great.  Stall full of customers, and I can see out of the corner of my eye, that the people on the next stall were watching as well.

‘Get that muffin OFF my table now!’ I barked, pointing at him and the offending consumable.  He whipped it up in a heartbeat, and swallowed.

‘I want my money back.’ He said.

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t like it! It tastes like crap!’

‘And that’s my fault?’ I asked calmly.

‘Yep.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you sold it to me!’

‘Ohhhhh…. I see.’ I smiled, crossing my arms over my chest.  ‘So, if you go into a book store, buy a book, read it and don’t like it, do you take it back to the book store?’

‘No…’

‘Why not?’

‘Because the bookstore didn’t write it.’

‘No.  And the bookstore cannot guarantee that you will like it, even though heaps of other people do.  Such is the case for this muffin.  Everyone else likes it.  It’s not my fault that you don’t.’

‘But I want my money back…’

‘Won’t be happening, champ.  You see, I bake my products to a standard, and that muffin meets that standard.  There is nothing wrong with the muffin; you just don’t like it.  That’s not my fault.  I cannot be responsible for your palette, or should I say, lack thereof.’

Fat kid just looked at me and blinked, seeing his $1 floating away in the distance…

‘Well, if you don’t give me my money back, I’m just going to throw it out!’

‘You paid for it.  You can throw your money in the bin if you like.  Doesn’t worry me.’

‘It’s not fair…’

‘You know what’s not fair?’ I uncrossed my arms, and stepped closer to the table, stretching an arm out and pointing as closely as I could get to him.  ‘You telling me that you only had $1 to pay for the muffin, but I let you have it anyway.’ I said slowly, and his face blushed.  ‘I told you the flavour was unusual.  I asked if you were sure you would like this one, and not the plain chocolate, but you insisted.  I told you that if you were lying to me, karma would get you, and it would seem to me that it did.’

‘I’m going to tell my parents.’ He whimpered.

‘No problem champ.  Send them over here.  I’m happy to chat to them about how their rude little boy conned me out of fifty cents, then tried to get his money back.’

Fat boy just blinked, turned and walked away.

I was fucken fuming!  My heart was pounding in my chest!

The customers at my stall just watched him walk away, and slowly turned back to me.  Oh fuck…. Here it comes.

‘You handled that so well.’ One of them said, smiling.

‘You think so?’ I asked, my hand fluttering to my chest.

‘Yeah!’ said another.  ‘I would never have thought of comparing it to buying a book…’

‘Sometimes you’ve got to give an example of something similar so kids understand…’ I offered.

‘He was so fucken rude…’ another lady said.  ‘Little shit.’

‘He tried that on another stall holder too.’ A voice came from the stall next to me.  It was one of my regular customers.  ‘He told the jewellery lady that he didn’t have enough to buy a bracelet that he wanted, and kept dropping the wrong amount into her hand.  He said he didn’t have enough to pay for it, and she told him to bugger off or she’d keep his money!’

‘Ha! Well, he conned me, little fucker.’ I said. ‘He’s been trying it all over the market then, I dare say.  Wonder where he learnt that from.’

‘Possibly from the parents that will come and visit you.’ Offered one of the ladies.

‘The parents that I can pretty much guarantee I won’t see hide nor hair of.’ I smiled, and I didn’t.  ‘So, are any of you interested in purchasing some crappy beetroot chocolate muffins?’ I laughed.

‘Well, after that, I’m totally intrigued, and I’ll have a couple thanks.’ One of the women laughed.

‘Sure, no problem… but understand… they don’t taste like chocolate….’ I smiled.

A little while later, I saw the fat kid walking around near the Scouts BBQ, still with the half eaten muffin in his hand.  He looked over at me, and I pointed to him, to my eyes, and back to him again.  I’m watching you mate, and he turned and scurried away.  Little fuck.

Shortly after that, the lady that bought a couple of beetroot muffins came back to my stall with a cute little whisp of a girl.

‘My daughter has something to say to you.’ She smiled, and knodded at her little girl.

‘I ate a whole beetroot muffin on my ownded, and I really likeded it.  It was yummy.’ She smiled happily. 

‘I bet you did, sweetheart.’ I laughed.  ‘Here, have a cookie you gorgeous little thing…’

Well… that’s karma for you.

Peace out.