On Saturday morning, while at Whole Foods, I came upon this brilliant display:
I quickly fumbled for my camera, not wanting to lose the shot lest my subject either cover itself up in a moment of modesty or run for cover for a reason I would never know. Greens can be very fickle.
I suppose my enthusiastic coaching and coaxing, including the typical “Beautiful, baby, beautiful” and a more personal “That’s it, Swiss Miss, show me your stalks” wasn’t as inconspicuous as I thought, because within seconds of taking the photos, a man whose job it is to arrange, water, and preen the greens said, “Miss! Miss! No photos, Miss!”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“No! No photos!” He shook his head and waved his hand at me to complete the three-part chide. Just in case I did not know what “no” meant. (N.B. Scientific studies have shown that 52% of the time I do not.) (Note to plaintiff’s counsel: You cannot use this information in your case against me.)
“Are you serious?” I said.
“Oh my GOD, ” I said. “Why?”
He did not answer.
“I know you don’t make the rules here,” I said with a laugh that I considered both conciliatory and gracious, “but that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” Of course this was hyperbole. I have indeed heard things that are just as, if not even more, ridiculous, including someone saying they think Carrot Top is “kinda hot” and “No, Jodi, I do not find ‘the little boy with his finger in the dyke’ hilarious.”
Of course, I wanted to shout, in a fit of lack of originality, “You know what? This place should be known as Ass(w)hole Foods! Bleeeeeeeee!” and bolt from the store, but instead I vowed to get back at Whole Foods and show them a thing or two by showing the world at large not just one but two forbidden photos. That’s just the kind of maverick I am. Look:
Swiss Chard (Reprise)
About 45 minutes later, I was safely above ground with three bags of newly purchased food and two purloined photos inside my camera, giddy with power. “I will not be silenced!” I whispered through gritted teeth. “The world must know!”
Any reservations I may have had were quickly dispelled once I encountered this four-year-old Bulldog named Dixie, whom I had the extreme pleasure of meeting less than a minute after surfacing: