Ok, it doesn’t take a Rain-man savant to figure I might have paid a bit more than market price for my first ‘free’ breakfast omelet. The cage including lathe frame, full chicken-wire around and above, the nesting stand, feed dishes, feed at 70 shekels for 30 kilos, yeah, the numbers add up.
Seven (7) days I waited patiently after their arrival, until the pleasant surprise just a few minutes ago. Admirably non-judgemental t’was I. No scolding sign screaming “Eggs or Schnitzel, you-uns decide!”, no standing near the coop demonstratively looking at my watch muttering under my breath “Time is money, pigeons.”
Kinda reminds me of my style with customers. I always prefer to let them pay on their own volition, even if I have to mingle with ’em near the frozen fish at the supermarket without commenting on the debt. I’m thought of in these parts, for my kindness, as a total sucker; a ‘freier’ is our word for it, presumably from yiddish. Yet the warm feeling of allowing someone, some fellow ‘there but for fortune go I’ to pay when he gets the cash is as rewarding for me as it is for him. I hope.
Anyway, the egg pictured works out to about 350 shekels, not including labour. Here, eggs are less than a shekel apiece, not to mention that the little egg from the proud Arabian hen weighs less than I can jism on a good hair day if I like you.
Oh well. I’ll get back to ya’all in about a year with a further business report.
On a sadder note, I wasn’t just sitting around licking paper plates this week. Helped out with a video-shoot for a local winery. Even finessed a gig for a buddy of mine, Murphy, as a stage-hand. He’s short, real short; in fact one leg is shorter than the other; possibly un-diagnosed childhood polio.
Anyway, he was happily carrying grapes onto the stage when a couple of the owners arrogantly decided to roughly remove him from the scene, squashing produce in the process. I’m assuming they feared the ‘runt’ might be caught on-camera, damaging their image and product-placement. Sad. I really debated calling the local rag-sheet,
the ‘Netanya Tattler’ to do an expose on their thoughtlessness.
If they had an English edition, they could have run with the headline:
Group of loco locals gripe; grope ‘grupsich‘ grip’s grapes.”
Oh well, me’n Murph will never drink Shabby Bros Chablis ever again. Serves ’em right.
Now back to breakfast…
Wu: File under ‘shoulda happened’.
Me: Fair enough, but the egg is real, guy. I’m not that good in Photoshop.