It's Like Mystic Pizza, Only With Organic Dough And No Rich Guys.

Remember that movie Mystic Pizza?  Remember how you just wanted so bad to move to a seaside town where girls work in pizza shops and fall in love with good looking rich guys who are only trying to prove something to their stuck up rich parents?  Well, that's not where I live.

I do, however, live in a seaside town where a few people might work in a pizza shop but the rest work in the small high priced bistros, places that thrill those who like to dine in places with hard to pronounce entrees and waitresses they can bore with talk of all their various medical conditions, allergies and sensitivities, the ones that make it impossible for them to eat almost any food served anywhere on earth, except maybe a certified organic lettuce leaf or some gluten free, nut free, vegan kosher fat free non GMO vegetarian broth.  

I'm not lying.  For once.   According to a very reliable source, it has apparently now become way too much work to tell the long tale of one's food allergy to every waiter or waitress he/she come across.  In addition,  people have become completely and overly attached to their food issues.  They have decided to commune with them.  Yes, they have  become one with their food quirks, and so, instead of explaining them, they embody them, allowing them, like demons, to possess them, until  they are no longer in control of their own bodies, their own lives,or their own souls.  That's why now when they open their mouths to speak to a waitress, they introduce themselves as the food sensitivity they have embodied.  When they do this they tend to speak in a strange, deep almost growl. Cold air sometimes comes out of their mouths as  they say "Hi, I'm Celiac," or "My name is Anaphylaxis,  Ana for short." even though their real names are Cindy and Joe. Remember, whatever you do, do not make direct eye contact with The Beast.

Now, I have no idea why someone wouldn't want to work in a place where people come to dine and then explain ad nauseam that there is really nothing on earth that he/she can eat and then expect a waiter or waitress or a chef to discover the one food (perhaps something that is still in beta testing in Sweden)  that will save them from starving to death, but if you are one of the people who don't care for this kind of work,  or can't take the pressure, you  can  always choose instead to work in one of the small retail shops in town that sells things only tourists can afford to buy, or can't afford to buy, but justify the purchase by calling it a souvenir.  When they get home, the crack wears off and they wonder why the fuck they spent all that money on a seashell shaped cell phone holder, or a wall plaque featuring a ceramic topless mermaid in a net glued onto a piece of driftwood.

I mean, those places are always fun too. 

But in the end, it doesn't matter where you work, or how many embodied demons you've had to listen to, because when summer is over almost everything shuts down here and the townies have to find non-local places to shop for sensible, useable, needful things.   Sometimes we fantasize about new places opening up, places that will cater to the locals and stay open all year long.  But that's too boring for most potential business owners to be interested in, and instead they will likely decide to open more gift shops and bistros which will close down before November leaving us laying frozen in the snow starving, and in desperate need for some hair conditioner,  the kind with no ammonia or artificial colors, or fragrances of course.

 Sincerely,
 "Asthma."