Halfan hour later, the shop is abuzz with about twenty people hopped up on freshly ground, home-roasted, artisanal coffee brought by the coffee twins and organic cane sugar donuts from the baker.
Afterthe letdown of no one turning up for my demo outside the council building, my heart is full from this energetic show of support.
“Okay, okay,”Carlyshouts as she flaps the front door to and fro to ring the bell. “Praysilence for our fearless defender of the community.”
That’sme, apparently.
Thechatter stops and everyone looks at me.
Suddenlythe magnitude of whatI’vetaken on is like the weight of last year’s potato harvest on my shoulders.
HowcanI, a twenty-five-year-old purveyor of produce, expect to beat a national giant likeYellowBarn?Particularlywhen their secret weapon isMr.TwinklesHandKisserand his monopoly on the world’s charm reserves.
I’venever been a leader.Carly’salways been the one to charge ahead, andI’vebeen delighted to support from behind.Themain reasonIstarted my own business after my marketing degree was because it had been drummed into us that we should aim to lead a team.Nothanks.
Andright now,I’venever felt less like a leader.Morelike a shrimp swimming in a vast ocean trying to rally all the other shrimp to fight a shark.I’venever felt so tiny.Andoverwhelmed.AndlikeI’vebitten off more thanIcan chew and am choking on it.
Butthere’s a sea of faces waiting for me to show them the way—the coffee guys who moved here fromBrooklynto save their business from rent hikes, the baker who opened just two months ago as a new start for her and her little daughter after her toad of a cheating husband left, the florist who’s so close to retirement she can almost sniff it and wants to hand down the business she’s been building for thirty years to her granddaughter.Andmy mom, sitting at home with her aching arms and legs, who’ll need ramps, grab bars, and a downstairs bathroom before too long.
They’reall looking to little shrimpy me.
AndIcan’t let them down.
Itake the deepest breathI’vetaken in weeks and clap my hands.
“Okay.First, thank you all for coming.Iknow some of you have traveled from out of town to be here this evening.”Inod atEdandVera, who’ve driven more than an hour fromRollingRidgeFarm. “Weall love how specialWarmSpringsis, how unique our small businesses are.”Thereare nods and a hiss of yesses from my fellowMainStreetshop owners. “Andhow much the residents value us.”
Mrs.Bentleyclaps from the seat of her walker and gives me a “Hell, yes!”
Carlyappears at my side, drops an upturned crate at my feet, and tugs at my elbow tillIstand on it.
“So, here’s whatI’mthinking.Tomorrowmorning, first thing, we picket the oldPictureHouselot.Somepeople might not know yet thatYellowBarnwants to build there, so we’ll raise awareness.I’llmake a sign-up sheet for email addresses for anyone passing who shows interest.Wecan use it to get even more people out next time and to remind them to bombard the councilmembers with phone calls, emails, and—”
“Poopin their mailboxes,” interrupts the shoe store owner’s little boy.
Hismom shushes him, and a titter runs through the gathering.
“Iadmire your spirit, butIwas thinking more of a letter.Ormaybe a flyer.”
Mymind flashes back to my one-woman picket outside the council building, whenMaxpretended to be terrified by the idea of a flyer campaign.Ifit hadn’t been so irritating, it would have been funny.
“Anyway,Carly’sspent a lot of the day nailing placards together.”Ipoint at the stack of blank signs in the corner by the carrots. “So, grab one on your way out, andIlook forward to seeing your slogans on them tomorrow morning.I’llbe there at six.”
“Polly.”Oneof the bearded coffee shop twins raises his hand. “Ihave some journalist friends.One’sat the localTVaffiliate, and one’s at theUpstatePost.I’llgive them a shout later, see ifIcan get them interested.”
There’sa rumble of agreement from the crowd and nodding aplenty.
Heturns to everyone. “It’samazing what some people will do for a bag of free trade artisanal roasted beans.”
Thecoffee drinkers raise their cups in gratitude.
“Fantastic.”Ipause becauseI’mnot sure if that’sAtticusorAramis.Ifone of them would shave off their beard, it would make life a lot easier. “Newscoverage is exactly what we need.”
“AndIhave an old farmer pal out west who stopped selling toYellowBarn,” saysEdas he tugs on his cap. “Saidhe’d never work with them again.I’llfind out what that was about.”
“Excellent.Newscoverageanddirt will be powerful weapons.”Iscan the enthusiastic faces staring at me. “Right, let’s brainstorm some placard slogans while we finish off the best coffee and donuts inUpstateNewYork.Andtomorrow morning we’ll showYellowBarnno one messes withWarmSpringsand gets away with it.”
There’sa hearty round of applause, a whistle fromAtticus…or maybeAramis?Anda “Whoop-whoop!” fromMrs.Bentley.
