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You Need a Permit to Sell Seashells by the Seashore

I’m on to your illegal whimsical shell scheme

Hello, I’m Darrel, this township’s small business inspector. Can you please show me the permit you received to sell seashells by the seashore?

Oh, you don’t have a permit to sell these shells? That’s unfortunate. I’m going to have to shut this stall down. I’ll give you an hour to —

No, I’m afraid I can’t let this slide. I wouldn’t be a very good inspector if I disregarded the results of my inspection.

It’s not just you. Where would we be if we let Peter Piper pick a peck of peppers from whatever garden he chose? Or allowed him to sell pickled peppers lacking proper protective seals? We’d be in a real pickle that could cost our municipality not only money, but lives, Sheryl! If that is your real name.

WHICH IT’S NOT. I’ve done some research on you. You travel from coastal town to coastal town, hawking your swindled seashells on shores where inspectors don’t do their due diligence.

Well, you better believe I do mine. That’s why when Betty Botter bought some butter, and said, “This butter’s bitter! If I put it in my batter, it will make my batter bitter,” I didn’t shrug and move on. I found the seller of that butter, some dairy dandy named Donny. Not only could he not be bothered to obtain permits, but he couldn’t even keep the butter at the correct temperature.

I shut that whole operation down, and now Betty Botter has better butter from the brand new Butter Boutique. That business owner is thriving, now that she’s not competing against a dubious dairyman who could sell his goods at a lower price by evading fees that pay for things like this sidewalk where you sell your seashells.

Also, if you don’t mind my asking, where did you get these seashells, Susan? ALSO NOT YOUR REAL NAME! Because I couldn’t help but notice how many of them are from protected species. But I suppose someone who scoffs at a permit and, as I’ve come to discover, taxes, doesn’t give a hoot about anything besides their bank account.

It’s all about the money. Your charming alliteration can’t hide the truth. You’re a ruthless seashell saleswoman with no regard for the law, the health of the coast, or supporting our local economy.

Maybe I’m being unfair. You probably grew up in some landlocked town, dreaming about the sea. The only waves you saw were waves of grain. You came out here to try your luck, but found running a legitimate company prohibitively expensive.

And you’re right, we could do more to alleviate the taxes and fees levied on our local entrepreneurs. But change like that comes from taking an interest in local politics and being an active part of the community. You can’t flit around with your conch contraband while inspiring change. You have to stay in one place, build something. And get some freaking permits!

I’m sorry? You’re going to post a video on social media decrying government overreach? Well, go ahead, Sarah. Yes, that is your real name. Never underestimate the drive of a low-level government employee utilizing the little power they have to get to the truth!

Post your story and we’ll see who the court of public opinion supports. The shady seashell seller, or the man protecting them. Do you really want to take that risk? Or do you want to come with me, and apply for the proper small business license? The choice is yours.