I dislike a majority of things. Black licorice, waiting, gin, children dancing at weddings… That list would even bore me. But the cast of characters that I encounter at the brighton/brookline whole foods really gets me all bent out of shape.
I usually practice a solid method of navigating star market/stop n shop but something seems to go terribly wrong when I enter WF. I enter the store not with the mentality of a teacher on a teacher’s paycheck but rather a high powered yoga instructor or a savvy bed tester. I haphazardly roam the isles forgetting what I came for. I lose sense of time. I forget how much I can spend. I become an old lady.
Let’s talk about the old ladies. This particular WF is frequented by a lot of old ladies. You can see them pushing their old lady carts wearing there generic old lady shoes and their mauve old lady coats that I never seem to see in actual stores (is there a catalog?). I normally don’t mind old ladies. Sure they drive slowly and scold my students in the community but they usually have purse candy. And cats. These are not the nice grannies. They are mean. And they are cheap! Yes lady, the organic pineapple is $5.99. Get over it. These are the ladies that clog the express lane and seem to think 15 cans of tomato sauce is equivalent to one item. Move over grandma, I’ve got soymilk to buy.
What about Yummy mommies. You know the yummy mommies. You can see them in their lululemon yoga pants and fitted Patagonia/ northface tops pushing around their demon child. Some of them have two nuggets…one in the cart and the other roaming a borderline dangerous distance. These are the women who transport their reusable bags and containers in their 2007 land rover. These are the women who are afraid of corn syrup. These are the women who give their children cardboard snacks at home unaware that their school’s budget only allots for straight gluten and sugar cubes at snack time. These are the women who park their carts in the middle of the isle while on the phone and juggling their 1.5 children. Shoo.
How about the twenty something hipsters? Since I live in the epicenter of awkwardly cool and slightly smelly, it seems fitting that WF would attract the twenty something hipster. They care about the environment (and drive a late 90’s Japanese car), the 99 percent (do people still talk about that?) and insisting that they’ve known/followed Bon Iver/Sleigh Bells/ Pavement for years and are upset about hearing them on the radio (do people still listen to Pavement? What about The Velvet Underground? Fun fact, I used to imagine that Lou Reed and Diane Keaton were my parents and we were a traveling band. This made so much sense in my 10 year old brain). These are the people that glare at me when I use a produce bag for my half pound of loose oyster mushrooms. These are the people who try to educate me on the dangers of consuming meat and consumerism in general. These are the people who put The Stranger in the mesh part of their backpack so others know they are (pretending to be ) reading it. The twenty something hipster is the perfect blend of overpriced vintage clothing, high end accessories, mac products and pitchfork approved music on their super-duper ipod. The twenty something hipster is the person who stands in front of me at concerts and ashes on my foot. Merrrrrrr.
The very important businessman. I used to like the VIB. I was so wrong. The VIB is a hot mess in a suit… zipping around the store on his Bluetooth. He has to yell in order to assert his significance. He is very important so he must he helped first at the sushi counter (VIB love spicy tuna rolls). VIB does not use a cart. Oh no. VIB uses a basket that he gracefully swings into your funny bone (sending shooting plains to your hand causing you to spill your room temperature organic coffee on your white shirt reinforcing the face that you should never wear white). Thanks buddy.
And then there is Mister Environment. I fancy Mister Environment is a grown up hipster. He does not drive a car but a basic bike with some kind of duel basket action. He works for a local non-profit and brings his own reusable bags that he won at a festival/picnic at the central square famers market. Mister Environment wears washed out earth toned clothing (mostly faded by his 200% organic detergent composed of angel tears and unicorn semen) and loves to rock his pants that magically zip into shorts. Mister E smells like a Phish show and desperately needs a haircut. I don’t have beef with Mister Environment but I have a strong suspicion that he is the one buying all of golden sesame tofu. Bastard!
I’m not sure where I fit in to all this. Is there a twenty something catlady subcategory? I do rock cat hair on everything I own. What about the girl who doesn’t take off her sunglasses? Perhaps there is someone out there blogging about my kind. The 25 year old catlady who doesn’t take off her sunglasses indoors. I could be the epitome of someone’s frustration with the world today. Hey, a girl can only dream…