Lost in Whole Foods

This, from McSweeney’s (original HERE), may bring a chuckle:

A WHOLE FOODS CLERK’S ALL-STORE ANNOUNCEMENT FOR A LOST HUSBAND.

By Kira Jane Buxton

Mrs. Germann, could you please come to the front? Your husband is lost and waiting at customer service for you to collect him. He says he promises that he initially remembered the three things you asked him to get: kale, Irish butter and some other stuff. He went in search of the kale, but got confused upon finding dandelion greens and chard, which looked shadily like kale and all the other land seaweeds. He says he is baffled that dandelion greens are masquerading as an exorbitant superfood when he is forced to spend his weekends nuking them with RoundUp. He says as a direct result of his revulsion at these shriveled lettuces, he panicked and loaded up a nearby cart with “all the weeds.” Then he got distracted by a fruit that called itself a deviled horn melon because it sounded awesome and looked like a weapon from Game of Thrones. That one is still in the cart because it’s baller and he says he’s not putting it back. You can’t make him.

He found the Irish butter section, but didn’t know whether you wanted the one with the salt or what. Is it cheaper to put in your own salt bits? He figures it is and has nabbed a Himalayan neti pot salt bag. He says you’re welcome.

He then tried to find you to ask about the mountain of weeds he was hoarding, Mrs. Germann, but got distracted in the frozen food section by beef-free beefy crumbles, chicken-less chicken nuggets and what this meant existentially.

He says then he thought he saw you, but it turned out to be another lady who wears purple Lululemons and stocks up on organic tahini like we’re in a post-Cold War recession. He felt embarrassed for manhandling a total stranger in his desperation and quickly dashed to the area that sold venison nuggets for cats that have the same monetary value as a new kidney. He says his hands were getting cold and stiff from gripping the stupid salt-less Irish butter and he couldn’t find you, or remember the third item and it was starting to feel lonely in this Whole Foods that is only slightly smaller than the state of Nebraska.

Then a woman offered him brownie samples that tasted like sunscreen and since they were free he had twelve miniature cups of blackberry-hibiscus chia drink that looked like frogspawn while another woman offered him fermented cod liver oil pills that cost the same as a Playstation. Another nice lady in a white hat was offering small cups of toe-food curry which sounded gnarly, but he tried the toad-food anyway and liked it, but then he started to feel guilty realizing there is a whole subculture of freeloading snackers that no one is talking about and it’s a serious problem! He’s on to those grape grabbers! Twisted by guilt, he says he lobbed a gluten-free zucchini cake, a $14 granola bar and a cranberry feta log onto the mountain of weeds in his cart and tried not to look anyone in the eye, ignoring offers of help while speeding down the aisles, staring at his shoes and running over small children with his cart. A guy in the meat department said, “Can I get you something?” He panicked and said, “Meat?” and then ran away at top speed, cranberry feta log spearheading the retreat.

He says he honestly thought you were going to stay in aisle five, but you were gone. So then he went to the “safe spot” you both decided on in between the beer and the artisanal cheese and his palms were sweaty and he had a sample of Guinness cheddar, which cheered him up a bit but he took in the plethora of microbrews around him and felt a sense of doom.

[Adult male sobs in background]

He says there are too many to choose from! How will he ever drink them all or remember which ones he liked. And they bring in new ones every week! He wants you to know that he’s knackered and he felt overwhelmed when a staff member told him that almonds can be milked and that he himself would have to massage the kale. He says he was excited to show you the hedge of mint he gathered to make mojitos, but I’ve just pointed out that it’s actually cilantro which he hates even more than the satanic phallus that calls itself a banana. He solemnly swears that from now on he is happy to live on Ding Dongs, Ho Hos and other non biodegradable Hostess products.

Mrs. Germann, it now appears your husband has passed out in a bulk bin of couscous. Please come and retrieve him now.

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