Let Me Tell You About the Time I Went to Whole Foods Jail
There I was, minding my own business in line for the self-checkout at my local Whole Foods Market when I felt a tap on my shoulder. My entire body went cold. This was it. I had finally been caught.
They must have me on camera, filling up a container from the hot food bar with prepared organic delights the likes of which I could never afford. Stacking salmon on top of mac and cheese, adjacent to some za’atar vegetables, rubbing elbows with a medley of orange chicken and tikka masala. It didn’t make sense as a meal, but it doesn’t have to make any sense when you’re the King of Getting Away With It.
With my large, fold-top container leaking from its seams, I set my master plan into motion. The plan that has worked so many times before, in so many Whole Foods Markets before this. I started frantically walking the aisles of the store, a panicked look on my face. I learned that with the right breathing technique, I can make myself turn a sickly shade of pale that, combined with the harsh glow of the overhead fluorescent lighting bouncing off my carefully-selected olive green t-shirt, gave me the look of someone trying to find his sea legs on land. I soon found an unwitting employee to make my accomplice and lend an extra layer of credibility to my chicanery.
“Please, tell me! Where is your bathroom? This is an emergency!” I begged, clearly ready to have a bad time right there in the aisle of the store, which would, of course, spread the bad times to everyone else. It was clear by the look on my face that if I wasn’t able to reach the toilet soon, they’d have to shut down the whole compound. God only knows when they’d be able to open up again. The kind employee pointed me in the right direction, in which I ran (quickly, but not too fast, which is the key to selling the ruse of a bathroom emergency). I entered the stall and let out a wail of agony…or so it seemed to everyone who just bought my lie hook, line, and sinker.
I was actually wailing with delight. For I had run to the bathroom with my previously-filled container of hot food in hand and was now enjoying the spoils of my heist in the stall, pants and underwear around my ankles, shovelling treats into my open mouth while my open bottom-hole caught a refreshingly cool breeze as it hovered over the pristine waters of the Whole Foods commode. The sign on the inside of the stall told me it was newly cleaned just that morning by an employee with the initials “GR”. It was pure bliss. Whoever said there’s no such thing as a free lunch has never felt quite like this.
I guess I was wrong — I would indeed pay, and dearly, for this lunch. The tap on my shoulder let me know the jig was up. I had exited the bathroom in mock humility. Head hanging low, feigning shame for my public restroom cacophony. My insides felt no shame, only pride, for planning and executing this pristine caper. I quickly grabbed a few small items: green tea, mints, saltine crackers — all carefully chosen for both their affordability and their part in the rumbly-tummy game I was playing. A second tap on my shoulder brought me out of my daydream. I don’t know how long I was lost in thought, but it was enough time to raise the ire of the shadowy figure that hovered over me, waiting to bring down his hammer and smash my intricately pieced together lark into a million fragments.
I turned around to find my arresting officer cloaked in anonymity. Of course, an undercover Narc tasked to roam the aisles and protect the precious assets of Jeff Bezos’ organic food empire needs to be a ghost. A hood concealed his face in shadow. Long sleeves flowed down his arms where, at the bottom, a bony finger beckoned me to follow. He turned, and to say that he began to walk towards the back of the store would be incorrect — his movement gave the appearance of floating, not unlike the classic Double Dolly shot made famous by film director Spike Lee. I wondered if I would do the right thing.
“Am I being detained?” I yelled at the top of my lungs, hoping to make a scene. Not a soul looked in my direction. It was as if they didn’t even hear my cries. Too embarrassed by what they were witnessing (or, perhaps, too guilty in their own sins and relieved it wasn’t them being led to the back) to look their fellow human in the eye. I know, from my research studying Small Crimes Tutorial and Know Your Rights channels on YouTube, that you’re supposed to always ask “Am I being detained?” when you think you might be being detained. If they say “No,” then you’re free to go. If they say “Yes,” then keep your mouth shut because you’re on the record, and anything you say can (and will) be used against you. My captor, however, was the one who said nothing. The YouTube channels made no mention of how to counter silence. He knew how to play the game just as well as I. A worthy adversary in this cat-and-mouse game. A Lieutenant Vincent Hanna to my Neil McCauley. We were about to have our moment across the diner table from one another.
Before I knew it, I was in the back of the store, sitting in an uncomfortable iron folding chair in the infamous Whole Foods Jail. I don’t remember moving my feet to get there; it was as if I materialized in the room. Across from me sat my hooded captor. Whole Foods Police knew what they were doing. The room was hot. Hotter than any I’d ever been in. It smelled foul, like old eggs. They must move the expired food in here after they remove it from the shelves. I was dealing with some real heavy hitters when it came to interrogations. It was clear they were trying to break me. I needed to stay strong.
I thought that my nemesis was on the verge of revealing himself, but he simply extended his arm and once again pointed his finger (which, if I were less of a sane man, I would swear was all bone and no flesh) toward a television screen. What came on the screen after a display of static and snow was a chilling revelation that the watchful eye of Whole Foods, in fact, sees all. All of my sins played out before me in their entirety; I was forced to watch with no reprieve. Every time I ransacked the free samples, filling my face, fists, and pockets with chips, or trail mix, or tiny pieces of Cowboy Beef Burger, leaving none for anyone who came behind me.
“They’re free samples! You’re supposed to take them!” I defiantly shot back. My stoic foe remained exactly so. Not a word was returned, and the evidence tape continued to play my misdeeds.
Missed scan after missed scan at the self-checkout.
“How was I supposed to know those items didn’t scan? I had noise-cancelling headphones on! I was in a rush! I get confused! I’m not a trained employee!” Just like I rehearsed so many times for an occasion such as this.
Plucking high-ticket items from the shelves and placing them into my reusable shopping bag instead of my basket, and then confidently checking out with a human employee, bagging my paid-for items on top of the pilfered loot as if it weren’t there.
“I…just forgot! I meant to pay for them, but it just slipped my mind that I put them in there.” I didn’t even believe the words coming out of my own mouth.
They saved the worst for last. There I was, not returning my cart to the corrall in the parking lot, scrolling on my phone as the solo cashier finished ringing up my items and then had to bag all of my items while I just stood there watching, like an asshole. I could have been bagging that whole time. Nope. I was just reading comments on a video I hatewatched on Instagram. I wanted to see if other people hated it as much as I did, and then also check out the profiles of any of the idiots who left positive comments to see how stupid they must be. Now, everybody behind me in line had a much longer wait. For these crimes, I had no reply. I could justify taking a little from Amazon, but there was no excuse for treating other people like this. I hung my head in shame. Actual shame, this time, not the fake shame I pretended to feel after my make-believe bathroom bonanza buffet.
A bell rang; a deep, low chime that reverberated through my being. It brought me out of my contemplation. I looked to my captor, who now held an hourglass in his frail hands. He turned it over. The sands began to fall from the top to the bottom, yet the grains in the upper bulb never diminished. My sentence was eternal. The floor beneath me turned molten. I began to sink, deeper and deeper towards my damnation until the liquid inferno passed my shoulders. I screamed out for mercy — to whom I did not know. I closed my eyes, expecting to be swallowed whole by infinity.
I opened my eyes to find that I was back at the hot bar. My large fold-top container was half full of mac and cheese, and my hand held a scooper brimming with wild-caught Alaskan salmon waiting to be placed on top of the yellow congealment. I was given another chance. Or perhaps, it was just a dream. I decided that I would not tempt fate. I placed my container on the sneeze guard before realizing what I was about to do. I picked it up and approached an employee.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I want this anymore.”
“No worries. Thanks for not just leaving it lying around. You can’t imagine how many people just leave messes for us to clean up.”
I shook my head in pretend disbelief. “Thank you.” Before I walked away, I needed to ask him one more thing.
“Can you please point me in the direction of the bathroom?”
His fully-fleshed finger directed me to the back of the store. I walked there slowly, taking it all in, studying the luxury grocery items on the shelves, realizing it may be the last time I step foot into a Whole Foods Market. I couldn’t risk a return and a potential backslide into sin. I entered the stall, and I sat on the toilet. I wept.
Shortly after my catharsis began, there was a knock on the door of the stall, accompanied by a “You okay in there, buddy?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I sniffled. “I’ll be out in just a sec.”
“No rush,” said the voice, and his calm tone let me know that he really meant it. “I’m just here to clean up. I’ll get to it when you’re done.”
I looked at the sheet on the inside of the door. The most recent cleaning was yesterday, by an employee with the initials “JC.” This must be “GR,” here to make things like new once again.
“I hope you’re not sneaking a free meal from the hot food bar in there,” the voice said, in the same pleasant tone that now filled me with a sense of dread. “It’s basically the perfect crime. Even if a member of the staff sees you take the food in there, you can just say you had such a bad time in the bathroom you couldn’t possibly eat anything that was in there beside you while you were having the bad time, and so you discarded the food into the toilet. No way to ever prove that you ate it.” His dry laugh followed him toward the door.
I peeked under the stall to get a look at him, but it was too late to catch a glimpse. I swear I saw a long, black cloak dragging on the floor and passing through the threshold of the lavatory. Not the most sanitary choice of uniform for a custodian, I thought.
I wiped my eyes and stood up from the toilet, pulling my pants and underwear back up before exiting the stall. I immediately noticed that something felt heavy in my pocket, which was strange because I didn’t bring anything with me into the store. I always kept my pockets clean and ready to fill in case they had good samples that day. Upon putting my hand inside, I knew exactly what I grasped. I pulled out an hourglass.
I studied it for a while. It was just like the one holding the sands of my eternal torment that I narrowly escaped, just smaller. I never turned it over to let the sands begin to flow. I didn’t want to find out how much time I had left.
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