I pull in. Other cars and meandering families fill the gravel parking lot. A smiling teenager in a safety vest points me around the bend, to another teenager pointing me around another bend. I park, grab my bag and get out. Weaving around lines of ticket-holders, I slip through the front gate. The weather is 80% chance of breaking a small sweat in a flannel and jeans.
There is orange everywhere. A surprising number of 20-something hipsters are out playing corn-hole in beanies and fashion overalls. An unsurprising number of 2-parent/2.5-kids/1-dog households are out posing for pictures with pumpkins placed in a field for them to “pick”. I settle in at my post and start having the same basic gist of conversation all day.
“Hi! How can I help you?” I need to speak much louder than is natural for customers to hear me through the round hole in the plastic shield.
“Can I have coffee and a donut?” Or hot cocoa, water, fancy waters, teas, sodas, chips, bars, ride tickets.
“Sure thing. Cream or sugar?” People always over explain their answer to this question.
“That’s $4.50.” Navigating the 100 button register correctly feels exactly like I’m playing the electronic memory game ‘Simon’. My trainer mentioned that if I pressed them in the incorrect order she doesn’t know how to cancel it out.
“Would you like a copy of your receipt?” Only one person does the whole day. She said it would look cute in the scrapbook.
“Can you sign this for me?” Paying in cash is rare.
“Thank you! Enjoy the day!” The young and free will. The harried parents of toddlers likely won’t, but one day will treasure the memory.
I sell hot cider and a bag of Funions to Darth Vader. He gets in line for the hayride, pulling a mini Princess Leia holding a juice box in a red wagon.
I get breaks. To use the porta-john and haul over more concessions to restock. I have to wheel my wagon up a few wide stairs into the office as parents eye it like ravenous vultures. It turns out carrying children and/or pumpkins around is awkward and tiring.
A friend pops by with her kids and her neighbor. The fourth-grader says things like “I got through the straw maze in like two seconds. My brother was too scared to go in the corn maze, but I wanted to do it. I already went on the wagon ride last year.” The three-year-old shows me he learned how to whistle and asks if I live here. My friend apologizes for not messaging me back. Says she’s been really depressed too.
I’m at the patch from sunrise to golden hour. I made $3.50 in tips and use $2.50 of it to correct the drawer. I shove my $1 in my bag for next time I’m here to buy a snack for myself. In the evening we pack all the unsold food into rodent-proof plastic bins, restock the fridge, and distribute the leftover cider in compostable cups to the old farmer and the high school boys working the hardest on this October Saturday.
