Dear Whole Foods,
You don’t know me, but you should. I have basically lived out every one of life’s milestone’s in your store. I bought the ingredients for the first meal I ever cooked for other people with you. My kid went to the big girl potty all by herself for the first time in your rest room. I drop close to a mortgage payment a month feeding my family with your products.
But this is not a letter to complain about your prices. Look, I’m an informed consumer. I have a degree and access to the internet. I have a pretty expansive, self-taught breadth of nutritional knowledge. I know my options- I choose you. I believe that food is medicine. I believe the investment in good food will pale in comparison to if I had not invested in our health in this way. I also would like it if my daughter would hold off on puberty until at least the 5th grade, or my husband will go into pre-mature cardiac arrest. (No hormones in our meat, please and thank you.) We care about where our food comes from, we care about how it’s treated, we care about how our farmers get paid, we care how we cook and serve it to people we love.
We’re picking up what you’re putting down, WF. We’re behind you 100%.
But I can’t go in one of your stores today.
Wanna know why?
My generally darling three year daughter’s body was hijacked by an alien with clear instructions to kill me. I have spent all day- and when Mamas say all day, they mean from the time their angels woke up (6:55) to WHATEVER TIME IT IS NOW BECAUSE WE CANT SEE BECAUSE WEVE HAD NO COFFEE OR ANY REAL MEALS OR TIME TO PEE- trying to placate her rebelling soul. I have sat on the bathroom floor with her for TWO HOURS with her constipated self force feeding her apple juice and oatmeal (both 365 brand, by the way) and have consoled her the rest of the 6 hours she’s been awake by reading, rocking, snuggling, bribing, ignoring, pleading and crying and her still REFUSING TO TAKE A F-ING NAP. I finally threw her in the car with the idea that what we could both use is a safe, treat (gelato for her, a coconut milk latte for me) and to pick up a few things we need at your store.
But of course you know what that little booger did. She fell asleep as soon as I put my car in park in the best damn parking spot I’ve ever gotten. Ever. And I am now sitting, staring at your delightfully aromatic ( I imagine) rosemary Christmas trees. Your soft, butter-yellow glow blurring in the rain that is now coming down in torrents. And cursing you and why you, in all of your granola-Glory haven’t already rectified this situation. So close. So far.
So, here it is WF. I’m glad to represent all Mamas everywhere who are, even now sitting in their cars while their demon children sweetly slumber in the backseat.
We drive out of our way to get to you. We’re all up in that Nordic Kids aisle. We snap up those classroom friendly brownies like a single girl at a wedding grabs the bouquet. You’d never hear so much as a whimper about your (ridiculous), 37.00 head of broccoli. We cough up 146.36 for 3 items on the conveyor belt.
Do us a solid and build us a drive through. It can’t be that hard. You import coffee from Africa for God’s sake and pay harvesters a decent wage. Build the damn thing.
And if you can’t, at least have curbside service. I’d do heinous things for the welcome sight of a little green apron jogging my way through the rain with a cup of your curried lentil and spinach soup and a carton of eggs. Heinous.
A very hungry, pretty-stressed out but still crunchy, Mama
(basically, your entire consumer population.)