$26.94

Picture this scene: I am in Whole Foods struggling to carry the new black basket/roll away cart. It keeps hitting me on my shins, but I refuse to drag it behind me like some crazed stewardess. Saturday afternoons at Whole Foods is fairly calm. I came in to buy my lunch and will leave random crap to eat for the next week. There is no method to this madness.

I look at the locally grown broccoli and wonder if it is better than the California organic broccoli. Should I buy a bag potatoes even though I will throw away half of it because it is cheaper than buying three potatoes? I see stalks of lemongrass and get a tear in my eye. On 20/20 the night before, there was a story about these 8 year old girls that were kickboxers to provide for their families. I guess lemongrass = Thailand in my mind. And in some kind of schizophrenic delusion, I assume everyone is looking at me staring blankly into the sprawling set of misted greens. So I pretend that I was just examining produce and not drifting off to some television show, I dump some organic Swiss chard in my basket.

Even though I was only supposed to be in Whole Foods for a short time, I find myself meandering around the aisles. I go through vitamins, double back to produce for some butternut squash, stare down the salty snack aisle, pick up honey, smell all the teas on sale, order a roast beef sandwich on a brioche, debate over stonyfield farms and brown cow yogurt, go back to get my sandwich.

It is about 40 minutes later and I still have not eaten lunch. But I look through the organic make up. Homeopathic remedies for canker sores are on sale. I feel a canker sore coming where I bit the inside of my upper lip. Probably have been gnawing on my own flesh out of hunger.

I get in line with my extremely unwieldy basket which has now given my carpal tunnel syndrome. I unload its contents. A blond woman in Red Sox hat, Patagonia vest, and Coach mini hobo gives me a harumph. She has three luna bars and a lemonade in her hand. She looks at the clock on her cell phone, then at my menagerie of food stuffs, and then at me. I consider letting her go ahead of me, but I find her annoyance amusing. I tell the bagger that I can handle it, and I slowly load my items in my canvas bags. Hmmm. How long should I wait before signing my receipt? The sales clerk starts chatting about how the Kombucha I am buying changed her life. She is a million times healthier. Really? I was debating between the acidophillus and the Kombucha. I smile, the clerk had made my day in many ways.

I walk out canvas bags filled to the brim, drink my freshly squeezed orange juice, and start the trek back to school.