Market Mania

I sometimes help Organica sell her wares at 'the Markets'.

I love markets. Wherever Brad the Tradie and I travel, I seem to be able to sniff out the markets. Naturally I love food markets (except that nasty one in the Japanese city of Hakodate that had sea urchin brekkie specials and live crabs everywhere...) but I especially love seeing what people make with their bare hands.

Organica is one of those chicks who makes stuff with her bare hands. Her house is full of tools that cut stuff up and make fancy holes, little pieces of ribbon and cardboard, groovy labels, stinky oils and hand cream base. I'm actually not sure how her three year old son hasn't choked on some of it...

I think the Bogan in me loves markets because I grew up quite deprived of shopping experiences. No, I wasn't locked in the attic, I simply grew up in a small Aussie country town. 'The Markets' in my Bush Bogan town meant the local stockyards, where truckloads of cattle and sheep were regularly sold and shipped off to the abbatoir. Being disinterested in the purchase of livestock, I tended not to shop at the local markets. A shopping experience for me, besides the weekly groceries and milkshake, involved a trip to the big smoke twice a year. with the fam. Yes... we'd all pile into the HQ Holden stationwagon and drive to Tamworth, where such treats as Big W, K-Mart and Suzanne Grae offered countless hours of oo-ing and ahh-ing. I'd swoon over the treat of a counter-lunch at the Royal and sleep all the way home, happy with my new ugg boots, Darrell Lea chockies or hand-held electronic game (remember Donkey Kong?)

So, the upshot of seventeen years of shopping deprivation is that I am now addicted to it. And rather than just going to the markets, I now get to HELP SELL STUFF! It's like being a shopkeeper right? Being 'on the other side'. It's really fascinating too. They should offer degrees in consumer behaviour at markets. I actually take notes on the intricacies of it all (yes... really...) and I have developed quite a few theories that I am happy to share in a journal article if ever invited.

I've helped Organica at school fetes (cupcake madam?) the country fair-type arrangement (llama anyone???) and my new super-dooper favourite... the baby fair.

I'm not really into babies.

The truth be known, they annoy me a bit. Children are OK, you know, when they can talk, walk, eat real food and wipe their own arse, but all that baby-stuff just isn't me at all.

So, here we were this weekend. Organica and I, market queens, prepared and ready for action at the pre-Christmas posh baby market. This market was a bit different in that Organica (just for a thrill) let me sell some of MY stuff too! Puppets that no mid-thirties woman should own and some of my knitted blankies. Let me explain so you don't get the wrong idea... I'm not 'one of those knitting circle people' who makes Aran jumpers over endless cups of tea with the neighbours. Again, having grown up in a small country town, I am quite unusually adept at girlie handicrafts. Being raised in a highly gender-stereotypical household, my older brother learned to fix engines and ride a dirtbike. I learned to cook, undertake craft projects with cheap yarn and ... wash dirty, greasy man clothes. No wonder I have issues.

The Baby Fair wasn't held in Bogan-ville-ea, but in the posh part of the city where churches have bells and people don't shop for their kids' stuff at the local Target or Trash 'n' Treasure. Where children have names like Persephone and Nate and, by the looks of this Baby Fair stuff, have a LOT of flowery crap in their bedroom.

We arrived early, not being familiar with the posh part of town and its air-conditioned function rooms. Ok, we were three hours early, but it pays to be organised. Mind you, we still had to fight for the elevator with a couple of Wagga chicks, who we named Trinny and Susannah. They had matchy-matchy boxes and crates, banners and hangy racks to die for. Organica and I did feel a little out of place near these Baby Fair Experts. Compared to their floral wedge shoes and matchy-matchy blouses, Organica and I had our bestest denim shorts and Dr Feelgood thongs on. Hey, I brushed my hair speshly! AND ON A WEEKEND!

Good thing I bought the Sunday paper and a bottle of fizzy water at the servo on the way out of Bogan-ville-ea at 7am because Organica and I had all our crap set up ready to go before some stallholders even arrived. You'd think we'd've gotten a free extra-hot skim lahhh-tay for setting up first (and VERY neatly!), but no. Apparently first prize is a visit from Baby Fair-zilla the organiser ordering us to move our cars from the entrance. Geez love! We're having a bloody lahh-tay!!

We didn't really know many other stallholders (all called 'dahhhhhhling' apparently). So after entertaining ourselves with collecting fancy business cards, filling our drink bottles and posting status updates on Facebook via Brad the Tradie's iPhone that I was allowed to take in case of emergency, the doors opened on Baby Fair. Hmmm. Shame more people didn't take advantage of the free stroller parking really. Actually, if I'd organised this kind of thing there'd be a refreshment PARLOUR, not a nook, where people could kennel their offspring whilst shopping. The strollers in this part of town look more like Land Rovers!

It became obvious quite early that I'm not the only person with a penchance for puppets.
Clearly, they had pricetags.
Clearly, they were for sale.
CLEARLY.
The puppet selling was fun for a bit, before I got cross:
Hour 1: "Oooooo (hello small child), is Daddy playing with the Mammoth puppet! Ooo.... look out! Here comes the big wooly mammoth!!! Would you like to PLAY with the fluffly mammoth??? OOoo look! Mammoth's attacking Daddy!!! Look the mammoth has a new hairstyle just like Elvis!"
Hour 2: "Yes, it's a mammoth. Isn't it lovely? It's thirty dollars. Yes, you can touch it if you like."
Hour 3: It's twenty bucks. On special. Do you want to buy it?"
Hour 4: Oh for CHRIST'S SAKE. If you don't want to buy the damn mammoth, PUT. IT. DOWN!!!!"

Amidst my frustration, Organica kept her cool beautifully. A serene queen of sulfate and paraben-free liquids and lotions. Granted, mothers in this part of town possibly don't buy baby cream labelled as 'monkey fart scented', even if it comes with a face washer. But she persevered:
"Feel free to try it dahhhhl. It's ORGANIC you know!"
She even sold my crap while I went for endless amounts of breaks. Actually, I was a bit taken with the bonbonniere at the front entrance and kept going back for more. I'd forgotten to pick up a muffin at the servo, so ended up having bonbonniere sugared-almonds for morno's and subsequent snacks. Oh ALRIGHT! I also took quite a few home. They were FREE! Don't you go around at weddings picking up the unwanted bonbonniere? Geez!

Anyway, the early Baby Fair crowd avoided us altogether. Clearly, they were headed for the painted wooden signs with kid's names custom carved. The sponge-cake grannies stopped to say hello (read: use all the lotions in the testing tubs), and we had a few highly preggers couples swan over to sniff massage oil and rub it on each other's tummies. Fortunately we had scored a spot next to the 'get your kid's name on a ceramic bowl or cake plate' stall, so traffic was quite high. Mainly people entertaining their 'I don't like shopping kids' by playing with my puppets though.

A few 'glasses down the nose' women touched my blankies with that 'i can make a better craft product than YOU' look. In fact, one snot who was interested touched my FAVOURITE blankie without even acknowledging me (MY blankie! The one I wanted to keep for the end of OUR bed!) By the time she sniffed dismissively and decided not to buy it, I didn't want to sell it to her anyway. I felt like saying "rack off, I didn't spend fifteen squillion hours knitting in front of Law & Order so that YOU could have that blankie you snotty cow!" But I didn't say that. I smiled politely as she moved next door to touch the cake plates, and then I returned to reading the TV Guide. And NO, I don't take fecking credit cards.

Organica deals quite well with being polite and pacing herself throughout the day. I'm built more for intense bursts of selling I think. I'm used to sausage sizzles with five hundred hungry kids. Where people only touch what you're selling as it's going into their mouth. Where all I have to say is "You want sauce? Barbecue or tomato?" Where aprons protect your clothes from sausage fat, sauce and provide a place to wipe your hands. None of these poofy Baby Fair aprons that matchy-matchy Trinny & Susannah from Wagga wear whilst selling miniature striped overalls.

We didn't really expect to retire on our takings from the Baby Fair. Obviously. It's the thrill of people buying stuff that we made all by ourselves that keeps us going back. And the lack of other things to do in Bogan-ville-ea on weekends...

So by the end of the day, Organica & Blossy from Bogan-ville-ea packed up the Kia and the Commodore with leftover lotions, potions and blankies (and free little bags of sugared almonds wrapped in tulle) and headed home. We were satisfied that we'd done our bit to rid the world of parabens and sulfates as well as introducing non-Bogan babies to the pleasures of owning a blankie made of cheap yarn. Mission successful.

And as Blossy Bogan exited the posh part of town, I even took the liberty of spitting my well-chewed gum out the window. Ha! :)