Through the years, Port Townsend shrewdly transformed itself from a working-class mill town (the pulp mill is still in operation) to a popular merchant-class tourist and bohemian mecca. Its thriving arts and music scene is evident at the Saturday farmer's market. Many of Port Townsend’s residents are affluent retired Boomers, so it is not unusual to see a pensioner at the market sporting his tie-dyed T-shirt and wispy 8-strand ponytail playing Neil Young covers for $2 tips on a $5,000 guitar. I’ve always enjoyed the market. In addition to the entertainment, the food offerings are excellent – local meats, cheeses, produce and homemade jams. And the expansive variety of hand-crafted breads always come with a side of circus.
I’ve spent some time overseas and enjoyed engaging the free-wheeling souk merchants in Bahrain, Riyadh and some London open-air markets. They’ll approach you in the streets outside of their shops and present samples of their goods as they entice you with their comically stock pitches:
“My friend, this batik is of the highest qualities and fast of colors.” Or, “My friend, as my first customer of the day I can offer you this finest (fill in the blank) for only…” *glancing furtively, soto voce* (some ridiculous price).
But here in the West, apart from carnival barkers and QVC, such tactics are considered vulgar. How then to actively appeal to potential customers without appearing gauche, desperate or avaricious? You simply ‘bark’ obliquely; that is, you supplicate on behalf of something other than your business interests, be they dolphins, genes, or Mother Earth.
Virtue signaling in PT is best viewed at the farmers’ market where it has evolved into a kind of blood sport. Like cage fighters confined to a city block of billowing cabanas and multi-colored pennants, serial empathizers lock themselves in moral combat, engaging in bold displays of sincerity, poignancy and genuineness, all fearlessly directed at their patrons; signs everywhere implore and declare:
“Do you really NEED that plastic [coffee] lid?”
“Tuna, Line-caught and Humanely Handled!”
“Will you sign this petition to ban plastic straws from our city?”
“Organic Meats, Fruits and Produce. No GMOs!” (It should be noted here that gasoline and carbon tetrachloride are both gluten-free and actually more organic than kale).
As she shops, a customer pulls a child’s small red wagon through the market. The wagon carries an emaciated, cancer-ridden dog lying on a large cushion with clean linen, a blanket and a soft pillow. But he is too weak to raise his head or otherwise acknowledge his pettersby. The melancholy dog lover is consoled and duly praised for her stoicism in the face of the inevitable.