Take
it on the lime
I
had yet to sell our giant fruit anywhere. Of course the distributors
were all in bed with Big Agra or frightened by anti-GM loons. In
desperation, I'd taken this road trip. I'd naively expected a warmer
reception from these prosaic midwesterners. The old man shook his
head, scowling. He took his hand from the pocket of his frayed and
patched overalls to point a thick finger at my sample stock.
"It
ain't natural," he said, "for fruit t'be that big. No
telling what kinda poison GM bugs are runnin' around inside 'em.
Besides, how could I USE a lime that big?" I didn't try to
argue.
Kumquats
the size of grapefruit, limes the size of melons, etc., and tasty as
could be. But I couldn't sell them. I took myself back to the truck.
I was about out of options. Prolonging this road trip seemed
pointless, but I headed east towards North Snyder. The type face on
the map suggested no great population center, but since selling my
fruit was like trying to sell gold-plated dog poop, what did it
matter?
To
keep my mind off my troubles I watched for old stone fence posts, my
truck trailing a plume of dust like an activist's middle finger.
After about 30 minutes I emerged from a small stream valley. About to
shift gears, I noticed a party in full swing in front of a large
farmhouse up ahead on the right. ZZ Top's "Cheap sunglasses"
was being covered reasonably well by a live band, and as I drew
closer I could see plenty of beverages being put to good use. What
did I have to lose? I swung sharp right and pulled into the
driveway. A heavyset man with a huge mustache and white cowboy hat
strolled over to the truck, holding a bottle of Corona.
"You
lost, stranger?" There must have been close to a hundred people
partying in his front yard. A couple of cows watched from the other
side of the fence.
"No
sir," I said "I don't think I am." I nodded at his
beer. "Could you use some limes? Free samples." By this
time, a small weatherbeaten woman had joined us, smiling broadly.
"What's
up, Al?" she asked. The farmer looked at me, then at my
truckload of melon-sized limes. He nodded.
"Seems
this nice young man thought our get-together was potluck."
This
low-tech viral marketing might work yet, I thought, muscling a lime
out of the truck. It was party time.
Publ. Daily Cabal 2009
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