"Sorry, we don't like your kind here."
This post contains lethal doses of sarcasm if read irresponsibly.
The cashier rings up my 16 oz. grass-fed sirloin, a bottle of Siracha, a bunch of asparagus, several sweet potatoes, and a few peppers and onions—all for a cool $50. It’s date night tonight, and my female companion insists I buy our meal at Whole Foods. I swear, brand cults have rendered 75% of the American population to a gaggle of hapless marks.
“Do you have a reusable bag?” the cashier asks.
Ah, damnit! I forgot mine at my apartment. From the fat, happy heart of the American empire, my environmentally conscious consumer decisions have a marginal impact on creating a more sustainable world, but I feel compelled to do my part in altering our gluttonous and globally destructive trajectory. The Bad Feeling seeps in as I ask if I can purchase some plastic grocery bags.
A stillness abruptly dominates the atmosphere. The condescension oozes from everyone’s eyeballs.
“Bryson-Tyler! Don’t look at him,” his mother—my vinyasa classmate—Brea-Leigh, lectures. She also covers the eyes of her daughter, Alaina-Sage, who stands in pure shock.
“Listen,” the cashier tries to bargain. “You can buy a reusable bag for $10, or we’ll take you out back and break your fingers.”