Joanne Sherman’s column: The power of free gummies

I’m at the History Center’s Farmer’s Market every Saturday. Not as a vendor, I provide information about the Senior Citizens Foundation, the Chamber of Commerce and various town programs available to residents. 

As exciting as that sounds, few market strollers are interested in stopping to talk. Not when their other choices are hand-crafted wares, baked goods, organic veggies or a pickle on a stick. 

Oh, people glance in my direction, a quick side-eye. Once they see I have nothing yummy or pretty to sell they do an about-face and head toward something more appealing, like smoked eels. It’s as if I’m waving a sign that says, “I’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty.” 

To overcome reluctance to listen to my spiel, each week I bring a big supply of gummy bears that I place on my table behind a “FREE!” sign. (Yes, 100% candy gummies. Calm down.) This works especially well on little boys who are drawn to free candy like swarming yellow jackets. I am known as “the Gummy Lady,” and every kid makes a bee-line straight for me. (See what I did there?) But seriously, ask any little boy at the Farmers Market, “Where’s the gummy lady?” and he’ll point in my direction. 

Sadly, aside from little boys and friends who accidentally make eye-contact I’m pretty much all by myself. However, that changed one Saturday in June when I arrived at my table to find an elderly gentleman sitting on one of the two chairs assigned to me. He fumbled with his cell phone and his expression was like that of a dog whose owner shouts: “Not Friendly! Not friendly!” But when has that ever stopped me?

“Don’t get up,” I said, spreading my stacks of info on the table. “Don’t intend to,” he said, focused on his phone. He didn’t acknowledge me when I sat down beside him, either.

“Are you my helper?” I asked, making a lame joke. He looked at the materials spread across the table and said, “Can’t imagine why you’d need one. But no.”

Well then. Not a chatty guy. I figured I could sit quietly or I could annoy the hell out of him. Of course I chose the latter and peppered him with questions. It was obvious by his monosyllabic grunts that he wasn’t interested in a dialogue. Too bad, mister. My table, my chair, my rules. Besides, he wasn’t tied down, he could have walked away from me as if I wasn’t there, just like the vast majority of Farmer’s Market patrons.

I asked if he lived on the Island and he said he lived on another island. “Staten Island,” he said. “In an apartment on a street with wide sidewalks, adequate night-time lighting and 24-hour bodegas, but no turkeys, deer or ticks. And bigger ferries.” Vacationing here wasn’t his idea. He preferred the city. His daughter had rented a place for two weeks. The Farmer’s Market wasn’t his idea, either. His daughter was wandering somewhere. “Not like you can’t buy pickles in every store,” he groused.

He’d been to all the touted places, but our beaches were too rocky, our roads too winding and everywhere he looked, all he saw were trees, trees, trees.

That specific complaint reminded me of the words spoken by an equally grumpy woman 30 years ago. I was working at Bliss’s Dept. Store when she slapped a Chamber of Commerce map on the counter and said, “So what’s the big deal? People talk about this place like it’s Shangri-la. All ya got here is beaches and trees. We got trees in Massapeaqua, and better beaches!”

This guy could have been that woman in drag — or, vice versa. I struggled to wring some positive comment out of him, finally asking if he’d been to any restaurants. One. But there was some kind of rowdy game going on, he said. The place was packed with people shouting and laughing. His exact words were “a ruckus like that does not aid digestion.”

Just then two little boys ran to the table and asked if the free gummies really were free. After my nod they grabbed some, shouted, “Thanks!” and ran off.

“Sugar. That’s all they need,” he said, and as I braced for a “kids today!” rant, a woman approached and said, “Okay, Dad. Ready?”

“‘Bout time,” he answered, standing and walking off without a goodbye. But then he turned back, grabbed several packs of gummies and said, “Maybe I’ll look for you next week,” and then nearly got knocked off his feet by another swarm of kids who’d spotted the “FREE!” sign. 

Little boys and grumpy old men. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday morning. (And by the way, it really wouldn’t hurt to check on when your car’s extended warranty expires.)