So. We didn’t buy the $12 bag of cherries.
Because I’m a little strange in the ways I apply mathematics in daily life, I found myself mentally calculating the number of minutes it would take us to polish off a certain food in order to determine whether it was worth the price.
Patrick, Gus, and Amanda have a cup and a half of dried crunchy peas. Assuming the peas are as tasty as the smiling pea on the label suggests, Amanda and the boys will consume the package of peas in roughly 150 seconds. At six dollars per package, how much will the dried peas cost per minute?
Answer: You can not afford the dried peas. Put them back on the shelf next to the sugared guava bites.
I studied the people shopping at Whole Foods to try and glean some understanding of this demographic. The shoppers’ ages ranged from 20 to 75. Male, female. Posh to dumpy. Lean and athletic to borderline obese. There was no discernible pattern, except I did notice that almost no one at Whole Foods was shopping with kids. It was our two boys plus one extremely agile Asian child who was attempting to pop a wheelie with his kid-size grocery cart. Whether this means that people don’t take their children to shop at Whole Foods or that people who shop at Whole Foods can only afford to do so because they don’t have children I don’t know.
Despite the prices, I was mesmerized by the amount of geeky organic choice in this store. They carry about 15 kinds of granola, 20 kinds of rice, and then all of those foreign (foreign to me anyway) foods I’ve been reading about in vegetarian recipes, like bulgur and MUNG beans. When I first saw the mung beans, you’d have thought I’d spotted Bono. OHMYGODLOOK, LARE! MUNG BEANS! RIGHT THERE! LIKE TWO FEET AWAY! It was all very exciting.
We purchased some basic ingredients we can’t find at our local Kroger, some fruits and vegetables, dried figs and a star fruit Gus wanted to try, a good Parmesan cheese, and a six pack of Michelob Ultra Light for Larry, who is watching his figure.
I didn’t notice the beer when I went to pay for the groceries, and I was still giddy from the newness of this shopping experience (and my Mung beans sighting), so when the guy who was ringing us up asked me for my ID, I said, “Oh I don’t have one yet, this is my first time really shopping here. How do I sign up for one?”
SUCH A DORK.
I AM SUCH A DORK.
He just looked at me quizzically.
And then the lights in my brain, which operate on a dimmer switch, slowly came on and I was all ... “Ohhhhhhhh, you mean my I.D.eeeeeeeee. As in my driver’s license. For the beeeeeer. Gotcha. Here you go.”
I thought I was about to be inducted into some special Whole Foods shopper identification system.
Your Organic Food Asshole (OFA) number is ... GET A GRIP. IT'S JUST A GROCERY STORE.