I have realized that I am in the wrong profession. Sure, teaching kids is noble and rewarding (less if your "kids" are between 18 & 20 and occassionally hit on you in the middle of a lesson), but I have come to discover that teaching may not be my true calling. What is, you ask? Sales.
Seriously, I should be selling stuff. When I like a product, I talk about it endlessly (just ask the Hubs who is tired of conversations about my fabulous shoes and my new favorite nail polish or hair product).
Today, I provided free adversing for the Honey Crisp Apple.
Growing up in Western New York made me an apple snob. Every fall, we'd climb in the car and drive for an hour and a half to go apple picking in Victor, New York. We'd hop on a wagon pulled by a tractor and drive back into the trees. We ate apples straight from the branch (because we had to compare the product to choose our favorite). We usually bought so many apples that we'd have them straight through the winter.
In NY, apples are crisp. The skin practically pops when you sink your teeth in, and the fruit is juicy and crunchy. In Georgia, this is not the case. Here, the skin gives as if it's been sitting too long. It's tough and stalky tasting. The apple is mealy and has lost its tart, snappy crunch. The juices have mellowed into a disappointing soft sweetness. Georgia apples are no good for apple crisp or homemade applesauce. Or so I thought...
But a year ago, I discovered the Honey Crisp apple at the local Fresh Market grocery store. Honey Crisps could have been picked in New York. They make me unnaturally happy. I may occassionally bust out a jig in the middle of the grocery store. The Hubs may point out that my very excited voice tends to carry through the store and that people might be staring. My celebration might look something like this:
When I went to get more flavored coffee this morning, the Fresh Market had Honey Crisps. It was officially fall in my eyes. And when I went to the cash register, the cashier made the mistake of commenting in my apples. The conversation went a little something like this:
Cashier (who was extremely short, by the way): Everyone is buying these today!
Me: Have you had them? They're amazing.
Cashier: No, I'll have to try them.
(At this point, I'm pretty sure she thought the conversation was over....it was soooo not!)
Me: No really, they are the best apples you can get in Georgia. I grew up in New York, and I used to pick apples every fall. The apples there are so much better than anything you can get here.
Cashier: Really...(feigning interest. At this point the couple in their fifties standing behind in line me started looking uncomfortable.)
Me: The Honey Crisps are the closest thing to the apples you get in New York. They're the only ones I will eat down here. (Then I turned to the couple.) Have you had them?
(The wife looked nervous, and the husband looked at the apples they had picked up.)
Husband: Uh...yeah...(he looked at his wife weirdly. He must have thought I was judging him for buying cheap apples).
Me: They're great, right?? (The cashier handed me my receipt)
He muttered something that sounded like it could have been agreement.
Me: They're just so crips and fresh!
It his point I was still talking to the cashier, but she was now ignoring me and greeting the couple behind me. The wife had turned her back to me and I stood there, collecting my bags and feeling unappreciated.
Me: Ok, have a good day!
Them: no response at all!!!!!!
This is what I wanted to do to them:
I just hope they try the apples. They will not be sorry!! And I will make it my mission to sell these apples to anyone who will listen!!! (I just hope that sales don't go down because of it!
Seriously, I should be selling stuff. When I like a product, I talk about it endlessly (just ask the Hubs who is tired of conversations about my fabulous shoes and my new favorite nail polish or hair product).
Today, I provided free adversing for the Honey Crisp Apple.
Growing up in Western New York made me an apple snob. Every fall, we'd climb in the car and drive for an hour and a half to go apple picking in Victor, New York. We'd hop on a wagon pulled by a tractor and drive back into the trees. We ate apples straight from the branch (because we had to compare the product to choose our favorite). We usually bought so many apples that we'd have them straight through the winter.
In NY, apples are crisp. The skin practically pops when you sink your teeth in, and the fruit is juicy and crunchy. In Georgia, this is not the case. Here, the skin gives as if it's been sitting too long. It's tough and stalky tasting. The apple is mealy and has lost its tart, snappy crunch. The juices have mellowed into a disappointing soft sweetness. Georgia apples are no good for apple crisp or homemade applesauce. Or so I thought...
But a year ago, I discovered the Honey Crisp apple at the local Fresh Market grocery store. Honey Crisps could have been picked in New York. They make me unnaturally happy. I may occassionally bust out a jig in the middle of the grocery store. The Hubs may point out that my very excited voice tends to carry through the store and that people might be staring. My celebration might look something like this:
 |
| Only I'd be rolling around, or rubbing the apple skin against my cheek in a creepily sensual way. |
When I went to get more flavored coffee this morning, the Fresh Market had Honey Crisps. It was officially fall in my eyes. And when I went to the cash register, the cashier made the mistake of commenting in my apples. The conversation went a little something like this:
Cashier (who was extremely short, by the way): Everyone is buying these today!
Me: Have you had them? They're amazing.
Cashier: No, I'll have to try them.
(At this point, I'm pretty sure she thought the conversation was over....it was soooo not!)
Me: No really, they are the best apples you can get in Georgia. I grew up in New York, and I used to pick apples every fall. The apples there are so much better than anything you can get here.
Cashier: Really...(feigning interest. At this point the couple in their fifties standing behind in line me started looking uncomfortable.)
Me: The Honey Crisps are the closest thing to the apples you get in New York. They're the only ones I will eat down here. (Then I turned to the couple.) Have you had them?
(The wife looked nervous, and the husband looked at the apples they had picked up.)
Husband: Uh...yeah...(he looked at his wife weirdly. He must have thought I was judging him for buying cheap apples).
Me: They're great, right?? (The cashier handed me my receipt)
He muttered something that sounded like it could have been agreement.
Me: They're just so crips and fresh!
It his point I was still talking to the cashier, but she was now ignoring me and greeting the couple behind me. The wife had turned her back to me and I stood there, collecting my bags and feeling unappreciated.
Me: Ok, have a good day!
Them: no response at all!!!!!!
This is what I wanted to do to them:
 |
| Who throws an apple? I do, bitches. Take that! |
I just hope they try the apples. They will not be sorry!! And I will make it my mission to sell these apples to anyone who will listen!!! (I just hope that sales don't go down because of it!
 |
| Mmmm...it's delicious, see????? |
Do you mind if I link to this post in my blog? It inspired my apple crisp :)
ReplyDeleteOf course, Jolie! Post away!
ReplyDelete