Ferry Commerce

Well, who would think that shopping on the ferry is a good idea? I think it is a very bad idea, and as a result I never buy anything on the ferry past the ferry ticket. It always amazes me that people pour onto the boat for a 45-minute ride and then immediately pour themselves even further, into the food concessions, looking as if they had spent much of the day just waiting for the moment when they could buy ferry food, most of which appears to come sealed in plastic wrap.

This last trip, however, all that changed for me. Arriving on a very hot day, I looked through my purse for a tube of chapstick which I always carry. However, because of a recent airplane trip to California, I had been required to remove the dangerous chapstick from my purse and had subsequently failed to restore it. So there I was, on a very hot day with very dry lips and no lip balm. I needed balm, so I went to the ferry store, knowing I would be overpaying for the object. Looked all round, could find no lip balm. Then, just as I was leaving, I saw a few tubes behind the cash register. The closest one to me was ‘Bert’s Bees' Lip Balm,’ so I took the package, knowing it was even more expensive, as a niche item. My reasoning was that since I was going to overpay anyway I might as well overpay for something allegedly worth overpaying. I gave the cashier a $10 bill and she gave me $3 and change. Awesome! That’s world class overpaying, I'd say.

Since, because of the trip to the ferry, I had not had my afternoon cup of coffee, I decided to blow the rest of the ten dollar bill on a cuppa.

‘Where are the short cups?’ I ask the cashier in the coffee bar.
‘Short?’ she replies. ‘What do you mean? You mean small?’
‘Well,’ I answer, ‘the sign says short, medium, tall, and grande.’
‘Really?’ she answers. ‘Well, the small ones are here.’

It is $1.89 for my very short cup, I’d guess under 8 ounces. Which means I’ve got a dollar yet to burn, but there is nothing on the ferry, I suspect, that costs only a dollar. I get my very short cup and fill it, inquiring as I pay where I might find the cream. A little old white-haired lady—even older than I am--comes up to the register as I leave, asking whether she can have a refill on her coffee. The cashier looks amazed that anyone would even ask such a question. ‘No,’ she replies with perfect equanimity and as if it were a decision made personally for (or against) this woman. ‘No, you cannot have a refill.’

The little old lady accompanies me to the cream/milk/cup-lid/napkin table and proceeds to fill her very short cup with cream. Aaaah! Ferry Corporation-1, Little Old Ladies-1.