Most of the time, what I say and what I want to say remain separate things. Most of the time, that it. Sometimes, something happens at one of my shows that strains my self-restraint past the breaking point. Like tonight.

There's a particular variety of Passionate Young Person that I've come to avoid, as I used to belong to an artist's co-op studio and gallery full of them. They're rarely older than mid-20s, and full of the cleansing fire of their convictions. They either mellow out as they get older, or the fire gets banked and they turn into the kind of nanny-state left-wingers that strike me as being neo-cons in Birkenstocks. The ones at the co-op were the cause of me losing my lunch more than once; they were all either strict vegetarian or vegan, I am not, and there were several times when I went looking for my brown bag in the communal fridge, only to be told that my horrible carnivore poison had been thrown away, as it was polluting their vegetarian atmosphere. That's a verbatim quote, by the way. The girls in the co-op viewed every male as a potential rapist, unless said male could provide two notarized statements and a doctor's testimonial to prove that they were gay; even then, they were suspect. Everything was a !Cause!; there was no issue too trivial or obscure that it didn't warrant a three-hour debate, art had no purpose whatsoever unless it served a political or social end, and Lord help you if you disagreed with them about any of this.

It was the most humorless bunch of people I've ever been around. Needless to say, I didn't last long.

A few weeks ago, a young woman of this type came in to the Cafe during the time I was set up. She looked over my display, and commented that I didn't have any import silver. I confirmed that no, I didn't, but before I could explain about my concern over metal purity (and the fact that I can't solder on a lot of the imported stuff without it falling apart), she proceeded to rake me over the coals about how I wasn't supporting indigenous tribes in their attempts to become self-sufficient, and how I had no social conscience, and I was thieving food from infants in the third world. She then whirled around, exited, and left me to pick my jaw up off the floor.

She came back in tonight. Once again, she looked at my work, satisfied herself that I had not repented of my evil ways, and said (you'll have to imagine the disgusted look on her face) "So, I see you're still stealing food from children in economically challenged countries."

I don't know what she expected me to do. Cry? Apologize? Be too stunned to answer? I was once, but not this time.

I smiled my best evil smile at her and replied "Well, yes; but you'll be pleased to know that I've added taking candy from underprivileged urban babies to my daily routine. They don't need the sugar, with the rates of early-onset diabetes on the rise; and besides, all this heartless capitalism gives me a sweet tooth."

She left. Bewildered.

Sometimes, you just have to fight fire with sarcasm.

Edited to add:

I think I just got the most completely obnoxious comment to date.

"So, you're the owner but not the jeweler."

My hackles went up. Usually, it's "do you make this?", which is fundamentally different.

I told him that I was, in fact, the jeweler; he gave me the skeptical "you are", and I offered to show him the scars from cuts and acid burns if he needed more proof than my word.

He suddenly looked uncomfortable and changed the subject. It's not the first time I've run into "you're a girl; you can't possibly do all this", but it's the most blatant example in a long while.

Jeezus fucking H. Christ. The stupid; it burrrns, Precioussss.