I don't shop in midtown Atlanta on principle. But I make three practical exceptions to this rule. Trader Joe's I will shop once every few months or as occasion demands. I visit Green's liquor whenever I need good bitters, a specific kind of liquor that I can't get at the Main Street Package, or I just happen to be in the area. And Whole Foods. It is invariably a special occasion that takes me to Whole Foods, or the need for a special product.
Such it was today. I was after tonic. Q Tonic, to be specific, and Whole Foods Midtown is one of the few places that carries it. Because I needed a few groceries, I chose Whole Foods over Tower Liquors on Memorial, which also carries Q.
Why do I want Q? Ever since the cocktail revolution ruined simple mixed drinks for me (I haven't had a bourbon and coke in over a year), I've been craving a decent gin and tonic, but cannot stomach any longer the swill that lives in supermarket aisles.
I hate shopping at Whole Foods. I should make this clear. I have nothing against the market itself, but I cannot stand Whole Foods Midtown. The bile rises as I curve eastward down Ponce in the perilously narrow lanes, dodging illegal left turners and schizophrenic pedestrians. The shopping center that houses Whole Foods is a testament to everything I tried to avoid when I chose my neighborhood in Atlanta. BMWs litter the lot. Bored shoppers in designer sunglasses walk obliviously. Everyone drives like they are late for an appointment, and common courtesy (like letting someone turn into traffic in the face of a line of SVUs) is ignored. My teeth are regularly clenched until I finally turn off my car.
Inside Whole Foods Midtown is queer. The market feels like most other Whole Foods markets around the country. The clientele is wealthy, hip, or cool, or some combination of the three. Gym built bodies, ankle tattoos, Ralph Loren Chinos, meticulously disheveled hair, immaculate makeup. The staff is unbelievably knowledgeable and helpful. The gentleman I asked to point me in the direction of Kalamata olives asked if I had seen the olive bar. This instantly made me picture martinis, but I must have shaken my head, because he touched my arm and said "you will LOVE it." When there were no Kalamata olives at the olive bar, he fetched three different brands in bottles for me to choose from.
It occurs to me at some point that my discomfort around so many beautiful people is unnatural. Or unreasonable. Or both. Or whatever. The point is, after collecting all the materials necessary to construct tabouli, shrimp for a Saturday cookout and various other supplies to get me through a week, I realized only after I paid and had put the groceries in the trunk that I had forgotten the Q Tonic. But because I will have gin and tonic this weekend, and because I made the goddamn trip anyway, I went back in.
The tabouli must have been kicking in as I turned into the wretched Whole Foods parking lot off Ponce, because a giant flock of stinking vultures descended, pecking on the car. "Put up the top, put up the top" shrieked my attorney, but a crack on the head with the half-empty Q Tonic bottle put an end to his whimpering simpers.
ReplyDeleteAs I got out of the car the pavement heaved like a tidal wave on fire and a giant rent in the pavement opened up and swallowed down an entire row of silver BMW SUVs. I quickly ingested another pound of tabouli to calm my nerves. Inside the store, giant purple lizards rooted for leeches in the shrimp aisle. A man-sized toad fashionably dressed in Ralph Lauren chinos with ankle tattoos screamed orders at a diminutive cashier, whose face sweated like a rotting avocado. "Kalamatas?" she shrieked? "Kalamatas" Aisle three, you commie buffalo chip."