On Wednesday, Whole Foods introduced a new, more affordable iteration of its organic khaki grocery chain: 365 by Whole Foods Market.
According to the website, the stores offer convenience and everyday low prices on natural and organic products that satisfy the company’s industry-leading the criteria for quality. Naturally, the flagship pantry debuted in Silver Lake, a Neutra-ass, Subarus and seltzer neighborhood in Los Angeles.
We decided to get lit and check it out as we, The KIND, are dedicated to covering all new beacons of commerce and culture in this modern age, appropriately toasted.
I approached the steely facility after a medium sum of bong rips and realized the last time I’d been in this parking lot I was drinking coolers by Bartles& Jaymes in my roommate’s automobile after packing it in at the Cha Cha Lounge. Things were quite different now.
A militant parking guide quickly cut short my nostalgic daydreaming and struck a stressful parking anxiety deep within my heart. I told f* ck it and went back out onto the main street and found an open parking meter with 50 minutes left. Truly blest.
As I strolled to the entryway, multitudes of people poured in and out of the store, or mingled and relaxed in places designed for mingling and relaxing.
The place was packed.
I had come here on a half-baked idea for an article, but who on this stupid ground would eagerly swim this opening day crowd for lower-priced quinoa? It seemed absurd and masochistic. What did Shakespeare say about a Trader Joe’s by any other name?
I ventured to make a quick lap through the bustling, mechanical feeling warehouse of food. Quick, regrettably, it wouldn’t be.
Nobody moves slower than cared-for white people shopping for food while well-fed.
I came to a salad hallway. I’m pretty sure this was a plot point in that movie Sunshine starring Cillian Murphy. Behold, the entryway to the salad hallway, it beckoned me…
Here I was, deep inside the hallway of salad.
It was marked by awfulness.
The staff, like soldiers prepared for a beach landing, were seriously hard at work.
I appreciated them, and wholly felt bad about the unpleasantness of the majority of the clientele construction workers had to deal with this hectic opening day. Odd ways abounded.
Looky-loos and nitpickers mobbed the sterile arteries. Cute mothers with cute children failed to efficiently cart.
The thicket of meandering bodies was giving me anxiety. The interior design was rigid, plastic, some distorted, unfeeling Milton Glaser look creating the effects that I were some colorful lab rat.
Did I smoke too much pot? A sign informed me it was all good.
Conveniently placed above a selection of wine, the opiate of this demo’s masses. Nice try, capitalism.
…Then I noticed a bar.
The desire for a field brew just virtually trumped the chip on my shoulder avoiding me from ordering one.
I supposed perhaps I should try some of the prepared food, in the name of investigation and in the name of not feeing lunch yet and rending three bowls of White Fire OG on the way over.