An acquaintance of mine, sitting at the library on his computer: "I do not want to make my own veggie oil. I do not want to sell veggie oil. I do not want to start a revolution. All I want to do is go buy some veggie oil for my car. This shouldn't be so hard."
A teenager I know works at a local ice cream shop. She has complained more than once about all the questions various customers have when they come in. Are the ingredients local? Is the ice cream gluten-free? Dairy-free? Sugar-free? (She wants to reply to someone that asks for dairy-free, sugar-free ice cream that maybe they should eat something besides ice cream.) One woman, in addition to asking several questions, wanted to know if the picture of the cow on the wall was the milk source. (It isn't.) And in fact, where does this cow reside? Another couple were surprised there was milk in the chocolate sauce. And one woman lamented, "I can't believe you don't have gluten-free waffle cones."
I love when people email or tell me about their Sebastopol moments. From a reader:
I was playing at the park with my son, when some kids got angry when he moved some of their piled dirt. They said, "Stop ruining our compost pile!"
And from a friend of mine, who does childcare: She told me about two six year old girls who were meeting for a play date. One said, "I brought dress up clothes!"
The other one countered, with equal enthusiasm, "I brought kale!"
A worker at a local café said to me: "Hippies, hipsters. Two very different things..."
My toddler niece, looking at some pictures on the wall at a friend's house: "One goddess, two goddess, three goddess, four goddess...."
License plate of the week:
BADGURU
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