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Linda Hilton

Reader, Writer, Merciless Reviewer and Incurable Romantic


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Currently reading

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Studio Tour, Day One

I am exhausted.  I shouldn't be, but I am.


Up at 5:30 a.m. to finish some organizing tasks and to start a batch of spaghetti sauce for tonight's supper.  As soon as it was light enough to work outside, I began setting up.


Two days of car issues and two weeks of back issues left me woefully behind on prep for this event.  Usually I can set up in 90 minutes or less because I have everything staged on the patio.  Not so today.  I can't begin to count all the things I'd forgotten to put on the patio.  That meant one trip after another back to the studio to fetch things.  A forgotten sign.  Ribbons to tie other signs.  Extra boxes.  On and on and on and on.  When my first customers arrived at 8:45, I was nowhere near ready.  (Official start time is 9:00.)


Even so, sales went okay.  Not great, but okay.  I've had better, and I've had worse.


Most of the people are great, even if they don't buy anything.  Every once in a while there's a jerk in the mix, and I got one of those this morning.


The jerks come in two flavors: The kind who know everything and will argue every point you try to make, and the kind who know nothing and want you to tell them all your secrets.


This morning's jerk was one of the latter variety.


First he wanted to know how I could have the nerve to charge $5.00 for a rock I picked up for free out in the desert.  This is a common question, and easily answered with, "I had to find the place to pick it up and that place is 100 miles from here.  When I got the rock home, I had to clean it.  I had to pay for all my display equipment, I had to pay to be in this event, I had to pay for the packaging. If you don't want to pay $5.00 for it, you don't have to."


But then he wanted me to tell him where I found these rocks.  I refused to tell him.  I said only that it was within a 100-mile radius of my house, and that was it.  He felt that was unfair.  "Aren't artists supposed to help other artists?" he asked.  "Um, no," I said.


Then he wanted me to show him how to do wire wrapping.  I told him I don't give lessons.  Well, he didn't really want lessons as such, he just wanted me to show him how I do it.


I try to be nice to these people, because someday they might come back and buy something.  Or maybe they'll tell a friend.  Or maybe they'll just be assholes and bad mouth me all over town because I didn't give them free rocks or something.  But I do try to be nice to them.


This guy pushed me almost to my limit.  After I told him I don't give lessons and I don't give personal demonstrations, he wanted me to recommend websites where he could learn to wire wrap.  I told him to Google it.  I told him there are dozens, maybe hundreds of websites about wire wrapping, and he'd have to look at them and decide which are best for him.


Overall, he must have been here for half an hour or so.  Of course, he bought nothing.  He just put me in a bad mood.


Fortunately, the weather was absolutely superb.  Not a cloud in the sky, 80-something degrees, barely a whisper of breeze all day long.  I sold a few things, made a little money and cleared out some inventory.  Whoo hoo!


Tomorrow will be easier, as most of the set-up just stays out there.  I still don't have enough display space for all the crap . . .  er, I mean all the STUFF I make.  I need a damn store that can be open five or six or seven days a week.


Spaghetti sauce is now simmering.  I need to make salads and cook the pasta.  Then I need to sleep.