Dear Whole Foods,
You know I luff you*. I've been a loyal customer for at least 8 years. When my friends insisted that Central Market was better, I patiently kept pimping your awesomeness until they conceded. Or just stopped hanging out with me. When my (now ex-)boyfriend would ask me where I wanted to go for dinner? "Whole Foods," I'd say. Not Wink, not Eastside Cafe... the WHOLE. My dining preferences had little to no role in our demise.
Eventually, as I moved away from your world headquarters, on to other cities, I still sought you out, even though you were a mere fraction of your Austin incarnations. Whole Foods, I have stayed with you despite your inexplicable 50 cent rise in kombucha!
So it is with dismay that I am forced to lodge this complaint. Like putting one's own dishes in the dishwasher, some things shouldn't have to be asked. Here goes: What do you have against the no-baggers, Whole?
What's that? You aren't following?
Let me break it down. If I bring in anything that resembles a shopping bag, even if I just picked it out of the recycle bin outside (which I would NEVER, NEVER do), you credit me 5 cents off my bill. But, when I come in sans bag, and load my arms up because I don't want to waste, NO 5 cents credit. Even though I'm still saving the environment. What gives?
Lady, it's FIVE cents, you might say.
And you'd be right. But I have both Virgo Rising AND Moon, and these inconsistencies keep me up at night. (Just look at the timestamp on this blog. I should be in bed.) Also, it's lame. If you're going to reward the saving of bags, then shouldn't us au naturel sorts be remunerated? I just verified that 'remunerated' makes sense on Dictionary.com. Actually, first I wrote 'reNUMerated' because I always think 'num' = 'numbers' = $ compensation, (totally logical, right?) but then I checked and sure enough, I'd made the same mistake again so this time I fixed it before posting. I'm no idoit.
Anyway, not that it should matter, but I'm saving up for THIS handbag (but in eggplant), which I will not be carrying my groceries in. Every (5 cent) bit helps.
* Except when I'm in Portland. Then I pretend like I don't know you, because I like to fit in. (Sorry.)