“Theypay farmers next to nothing.”
Louderboos.
“Andcharge them for their produce to be packaged.”
Hissesare added.
“Whatthe fuck?”NowI’msweaty, angry, and more than a little bit turned on.
“What’swrong, love?”Mrs.Lovewell’shand is back on my shoulder.
Thecamera zooms in so closely onPollyIcan tell her lips are brushing against the bullhorn. “Andthey have to have it packaged at plants owned byYellowBarn.”Shepunches the air. “Plantsowned byYellowBarnthat charge double the going rate.”
Gaspsof horror mix with the boos, hisses, and chants.
Oh, no.I’mnot having that.
“Whatthe fuck is she talking about?”Ipoint at the screen and look atMrs.Lovewell. “Wedon’t do that.”
Mrs.Lovewellsteps back and holds the tray in front of her like a shield.
“We?”Shefurrows her brow.
Thereporter steps back in front of the camera. “Asyou can see, a passionate protest here, with some serious allegations against the company.YellowBarnwas recently acquired byHarvestEnterprises.”
“Oh,Jesus.”Myheart plummets to the floor.
Idrop my face into my hands and push my fingers through my hair.Ihadn’t expected my company’s name to be dragged into this.
“Andwe can see in this next clip,”JenAndrewsgoes on, “exactly what kind of attitude the owner has to business.”
“What?”Myhead snaps back up to see cellphone video of me giving the commencement address at aNewYorkCityhigh school.
Therat-a-tat-tat in my chest is probably what’s known as palpitations.
“No, no, no-no, no.”Iwave at the screen as if that might somehow make me vanish from it.
Mrs.TulipTableis more transfixed by me than by theTV.
Firstthere’s a wide shot of the school auditorium, then a close-up of me with a clenched fist, shouting, “Getout there and crush them.Bethe best.Bethe biggest.Crushthe competition.”Cheersalmost drown me out asIraise my fist into the air for the punchline. “Bigand small.Crushthem all.”
Mrs.Lovewelllooks from the screen to me and hugs the tray to her bosom. “That’syou.”
“Completelyout of context.”Ijab my finger toward theTV. “Iwas saying that was the advice someone gave me whenIstarted out.Ifthey hadn’t cut it off there, you’d have heard me sayIdisagreed, thatIbelieve in fair competition, treating others as you’d want to be treated, and all that nice stuff.”
Myvoice is loud, butIcan’t help myself.Whydoes the media always have to have a hero and a villain?
Mrs.Lovewelltakes a step back. “Youdidn’t sound very nice.”
“Andthat’s what they want you to think.Here’sthe adorable little local produce seller.”Ipoint at theTV. “Andhere’s the big, bad, out-of-town monster.”Ipoint at my own head. “ButIam nice.Youknow that.”
Mrs.Lovewelllooks like she might be changing her mind about me.
“Ifed goats yesterday.Theyruined my suit.”Igesture to the shirt, sweater, and dark jeansI’mwearing instead. “I’mnice.I’mvery nice.”
Nowshe looks like she thinksI’mlosing it.
TheTVcuts back to the reporter who now has a judgmental raised eyebrow.
