The Buzz will stop publishing this Friday. Wanna say goodbye?
Andrea Moore: What?! Since I always saw their papers in our racks, I thought we had just changed our name. I’ll miss the loud and not-so-friendly Buzz girls on the street. Goodbye, Buzz girls.
Annie Quan: I have to say goodbye to the Buzz paper-hawker ladies, especially the one that swats me every time I turn her down.
Stephen Matney: Another reputable and classy Salt Lake City publication finds its life shortened by the dwindling market of people who don’t have Amazon Kindles.
Bryan Mannos: Wait—you’re not referring to my Adderall, are you?
Derek Jones: It’s about damned time. It’ll be nice to get a break from being hassled every afternoon right outside the office—well by some, at least.
Derek Carlisle: Oh, I thought they were just going to change the name to Newzz or Wordzz or, even better, Zzhit. Sincere farewellzz.
Jackie Briggs: God almighty, I’m so excited if only to rid the TRAX stops of those “Buzz giver-outers.” Every time I say “no,” this one lady mutters under her breath, “Phfff, City Weekly girl.” Then I shout back, “I can hear you. Honestly, are we going to do this dance every day?” So, adieu, my Buzz heckler. I will miss our choreographed exchanges and your misplaced anger.
Scott Renshaw: I won’t miss the paper, but I’m now deeply concerned about the fate of Utah’s yellow jacket-making industry.
Susan Kruithof: Farewell to you, Buzz! You can take your street-walking sister In Utah This Week with you!
Bryan Bale: I walked past the people in yellow every afternoon as I left the office. I always politely declined, and they always politely wished me a good day. I hope they’re able to move on to more fulfilling jobs.
Stephen Dark: Not to the Buzz. But yes to the folks who handed out their tawdry product with grim attempts at daily humor. They became a staple at the Main Street TRAX in the afternoon and undoubtedly deserved more for their cheerful efforts than the paltry pay the Trib likely paid them.
Jeremiah Smith: I will miss the poor woman at the train stop who always tried to hand me one every day. She was a firecracker.