Where might this be, you ask? Why, Whole Foods, of course!
Don’t get me wrong, I know lots of nice, non-asshatty folks who shop at Whole Paycheck Foods.
None of them were there today.
And the employees are nice. At least, Mr. Ponytail was really happy to help me find all-natural frosting, and I appreciated him facilitating my getting the hell out of there.
But holy shit, people. Here are some lessons for the pompous douchenozzles who royally fucked up my otherwise enjoyable lunch hour and drove me to self-comfort with Bread Co. mac n cheese.
- You’re shopping at a store founded on the principle of natural, healthy, eco-friendly living. Riding up in a gas-guzzling, overpriced SUV of death means you just shop here because you can afford to and because you think it makes you look good. Fuck off and buy a hybrid already. You can clearly afford that, too.
- While you’re in that pollutant-spewing behemoth, you are sheltered from the gross, drenching, also pollution-filled thanks to you drizzle falling from the sky – you should brake and let pedestrians cross the street to get out of the weather instead of plowing through like a WEC wrestler on his way to the cage.
- Maybe you don’t have to work to earn the money you’re spending here, but I do, so kindly shuffle your ass out of the doorway and stop blocking the aisles. I’m here for frosting, not to stare at a sample of organically fancypants cheese.
- Now that you’ve almost run me over in the rain twice, how about you try NOT driving 40 MPH down the parking aisles? When there are other huge FuckMobiles parked on either side of me, it’s hard to see around them when backing out. And yes, I, unlike you, hit my brakes when I saw you approaching, so you don’t need to honk as you barrel on by. Fuck you very much.
- The fancy brand of your car does not entitle you to cut me off when it’s my turn at the stop sign. You paid enough for that thing, the brakes have got to be excellent, right? Try using them. Turn signals are handy, too.
- One last note – sorry my no-name-brand dress and handbag cause you to look at me like you smell something awful. I’m guessing that smell is radiating from the stick currently residing inside your rectum. The crazy unshaven hippie in the corner seems to think I’m overdressed anyway, so I guess I just can’t win. Maybe the lesson to learn here is mine. No worries, if Trader Joe’s had had what I needed, I wouldn’t have come here anyway. Won’t make that mistake again.
Now if you’ll excuse me, my inferiority complex is begging for that mac n cheese. If I denied her now, there’s no telling what could happen.