Melissa Goh
A Day at the Market
The cat yawned. Routine has conditioned her to somewhat realize that it was time
to move along or risk being shoed away. The sound of hawkers speaking loudly and
boldly was a sure sign of the end of its slumber. A sound of crates collapsing followed by
a long colorful string of ‘hokkien’ vulgarities could be heard. Yet the morning was still in
its youth. The air smelled of trees and the temperature remained cool. The fish monger
smiled to himself. He was one of the few men at his age that still appreciated and looked
forward to these times of the mornings. The years have not hardened him or have it?
Although the first customers who mostly consisted of aging middle aged
housewives have not yet arrived the bustle that surrounded the market was a forerunner to
the coming stampedes. Already crates were being moved and slabs of raw meats were
being proportionally cut and hung, fishes were being arranged in neat rows for
the customers’ inspections. Fruits were bring sprayed with water to give them the ‘fresh’
look and a couple of suspiciously bruised fruits were being strategically placed behind
better looking ones.
Alas time began to fly and the first of the weary looking customers began to
arrive. Weariness accompanied by sleepiness was no handicapped to these hardcore
bargain hunters. A single expression accompanied everyone of these would be shoppers.
It was the look of the expect haggler. The hawkers and sellers grimaced their teeth in
anticipation of these bold and seasoned hawks. Loudly and shamelessly these women
would condemn the expensive and embrace the cheap. These women could smell a
gimmick a mile away and out talk these poor men who spent most of their lives chopping
meat for these hagglers.
to move along or risk being shoed away. The sound of hawkers speaking loudly and
boldly was a sure sign of the end of its slumber. A sound of crates collapsing followed by
a long colorful string of ‘hokkien’ vulgarities could be heard. Yet the morning was still in
its youth. The air smelled of trees and the temperature remained cool. The fish monger
smiled to himself. He was one of the few men at his age that still appreciated and looked
forward to these times of the mornings. The years have not hardened him or have it?
Although the first customers who mostly consisted of aging middle aged
housewives have not yet arrived the bustle that surrounded the market was a forerunner to
the coming stampedes. Already crates were being moved and slabs of raw meats were
being proportionally cut and hung, fishes were being arranged in neat rows for
the customers’ inspections. Fruits were bring sprayed with water to give them the ‘fresh’
look and a couple of suspiciously bruised fruits were being strategically placed behind
better looking ones.
Alas time began to fly and the first of the weary looking customers began to
arrive. Weariness accompanied by sleepiness was no handicapped to these hardcore
bargain hunters. A single expression accompanied everyone of these would be shoppers.
It was the look of the expect haggler. The hawkers and sellers grimaced their teeth in
anticipation of these bold and seasoned hawks. Loudly and shamelessly these women
would condemn the expensive and embrace the cheap. These women could smell a
gimmick a mile away and out talk these poor men who spent most of their lives chopping
meat for these hagglers.
Long hours of business flew by. Waves and waves of customers poured in, from
the simple errand boy to the unscrupulous housewives who demanded nothing but the
cheapest and the best, Long unchained melodies of words and dialects flooded the
marketplace adding to the boisterous nature of the environment. When fully
contemplated, it was life itself. Without the market, there would be no life to many.
Perhaps not life as we know it. Good old-fashioned shop owners who knew every
customers by name and discounts could be bargained. Perhaps the very reason why old
timers who used to visit marketplaces boycotted the newly and quickly growing chains of
supermarkets. Those sterile, unfriendly and unnaturally cold places where a young boy
who was supposed to be in school was logging your purchases and the prices were shown
onto an electronic display.
the simple errand boy to the unscrupulous housewives who demanded nothing but the
cheapest and the best, Long unchained melodies of words and dialects flooded the
marketplace adding to the boisterous nature of the environment. When fully
contemplated, it was life itself. Without the market, there would be no life to many.
Perhaps not life as we know it. Good old-fashioned shop owners who knew every
customers by name and discounts could be bargained. Perhaps the very reason why old
timers who used to visit marketplaces boycotted the newly and quickly growing chains of
supermarkets. Those sterile, unfriendly and unnaturally cold places where a young boy
who was supposed to be in school was logging your purchases and the prices were shown
onto an electronic display.
Alas, a day at the market.
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