In Which I Walk To The Pier and Back Several Times

This weekend is our local Art festival at the pier. Formerly it was held in the middle of beautiful downtown P.A. and dowtown businesses were packed, but for reasons known best to those who run the festival, it was moved down a few blocks to the city pier. Now the pier is busy and hardly anyone comes around the downtown area.

So amidst the vendors at the pier, the store owner's granddaughter and one of her friends set up a small table selling organic lemonade next to Michael's food booth. There was a lot of stress involved with getting this endeavor set up. So much, in fact, that I did my best to be busy or appear to be busy in order to avoid getting caught up in whirling stress vortex that was engulfing the owner, her granddaughter and anyone foolish enough to get themselves involved. After a while, they vanished with a small table, two chairs, a cash box, cups, napkins and a huge ice chest filled with glass bottles of organic lemonade. Relative calm was restored.

The next thing I knew, I was delegated to take a stroll down to the pier and, as I interpreted what the owner was saying, stand watch over the two lemonade girls. Well, there are worse things to do, but I wasn't exactly excited over the prospect ... fortunately, after owner-speak was decyphered, it turned out that I was to simply walk down to the pier and deliver a cellphone to the girls. So I took a leisurely stroll, because I'm on the clock after all, down to the pier, delivered the cell and strolled back to the store again.

It seemed like mere mintues but it was probably closer to a half-hour later, I was asked by the owner to go back down to the pier and stand watch at the lemonade stnad while one of the girls went off in search of a restroom. So back I strolled, because I'm not in any particluar hurry, down to the pier and stood with my hands in my pockets while the granddaughter dashed off . According to her friend, they'd sold four dollars of lemonade (one dollar per cup) two dollars of which came from relatives. I suppose that's not bad, but lacking in that Horatio Alger drive and determination. In a Horatio Alger tale, Larry the Lemonade Lad would have, in that short space of time, sold several crates of lemonade, charming the local condiment tycoon with his capitalist accumen and the condiment tycoon's daughter in the process. It's a shame kids today don't read Horatio Alger as it would do them a world of good. All this passed thorugh my mind as the granddaughter trotted back to resume her lemonade sales. My duty, such as it was, fulfilled, I leisurely strolled back to the store.

It seemed like an hour later, and it probably was, when the kids called and said they were bored and hungry and could they be relieved of this onerous task of lemonade selling. Another whirlwind of stress ensued and the owner went back to the pier to break down to lemonade stand and the kids with their four dollar profit were turned loose amongst the food vendors.