White Girl Problem
I didn't really get the whole white girl problem joke until today in Whole Foods. Obviously. My ex-boyfriend had part of my Christmas present to give me and I had things I bought for him. Mid-afternoon, he called and said he was in Whole Foods across from my store and asked if I wanted to come over there to swap. I said yes.
Scene:
Me - overpriced rain boots, overpriced rain jacket, very neat hair and eyebrows. Him - trendy glasses, iPod in (which was a odd), designer shoes, jacketless but scarved. Me - rushing in with a bag full of $25 boxers and a hundred dollar hoodie for him. Him - brown paper package tied with a floppy red bow. inside - a sleeve for the iPad he gave me for Christmas. Me - flustered and rushed, stupidly offer to walk him through the produce section. Him - inquires about ingredients in chili, which he intends to make before he goes out of town. Me - hook, line and sinker - where are you going? Him - Tahoe. Me - quiet beside him as we pass the seafood department but glad I'm no longer dating someone averse to seafood and free to cook deep sea culinary delights. Him - straight past seafood to the local, grass-fed meats. Me - suddenly teary. Him - genuinely concerned. Me - I have to go now. (I actually did have to go to back to work.) Him - how much do I owe you? Me - eighty five dollars. Him - I only have hundred dollar bills.
Okay, so this part could have also been a drug dealer problem.
We then tried two different cashiers to break a hundred dollar bill, none of whom had the change. I got huffy and frustrated that these people can't break a hundred dollar bill. What kind of Whole Foods is this? This would never happen that the Georgetown Whole Foods. Several people excused themselves past us in search of Pellegrino, and I became increasingly uncomfortable. He gently urged me to relax, and not knowing what else to do, I again said I had to go. He asked if I want to open my present. No, I didn't want to open my present next to organic all-purpose cleaner. As I declined, I fiddled my umbrella and suddenly my golf-sized umbrella burst opened in the middle of Whole Foods. Oops. My face burned. With his eyes on me, I struggled to quickly close it. He understood about the present but insisted on peaking into the bag containing his luxg lounge clothes, and I said: Just don't wear those two things together. Ever.
As if that was the main concern.
Then suddenly, without thought or preparation, I again said I had to leave and walked out the door without looking back. Normally, I always look back. I like a good melodramatic ending scene, but this time I couldn't bring myself to act it out. I couldn't even muster a "I hope you live into your possibility." And I love that line. All I could do was re-open my umbrella with purpose and without looking both ways, dash across the street. A car shrieked to a halt. The driver shook his head.
Thankfully, I didn't die. I don't want to die like that - near tears, clenching a hundred dollar bill. And I certainly don't want to die wearing rain boots. Because my main concern about death is what I'll be wearing.
Inside my concerned assistant manager asked me how it went. Whatever. I just wanted it to disappear and for a moment felt as bleak as the weather outside. I sat down at my office and complained for a solid ten minutes before I was called outside to monitor a photo shoot for our weekly product notification. When I went back outside, it wasn't raining anymore. It was like an entirely different day. The sky was clear and to the right was a giant, picturesque rainbow.
Get the rainbow in the picture, I said.
Emma Dinzebach
Scene:
Me - overpriced rain boots, overpriced rain jacket, very neat hair and eyebrows. Him - trendy glasses, iPod in (which was a odd), designer shoes, jacketless but scarved. Me - rushing in with a bag full of $25 boxers and a hundred dollar hoodie for him. Him - brown paper package tied with a floppy red bow. inside - a sleeve for the iPad he gave me for Christmas. Me - flustered and rushed, stupidly offer to walk him through the produce section. Him - inquires about ingredients in chili, which he intends to make before he goes out of town. Me - hook, line and sinker - where are you going? Him - Tahoe. Me - quiet beside him as we pass the seafood department but glad I'm no longer dating someone averse to seafood and free to cook deep sea culinary delights. Him - straight past seafood to the local, grass-fed meats. Me - suddenly teary. Him - genuinely concerned. Me - I have to go now. (I actually did have to go to back to work.) Him - how much do I owe you? Me - eighty five dollars. Him - I only have hundred dollar bills.
Okay, so this part could have also been a drug dealer problem.
We then tried two different cashiers to break a hundred dollar bill, none of whom had the change. I got huffy and frustrated that these people can't break a hundred dollar bill. What kind of Whole Foods is this? This would never happen that the Georgetown Whole Foods. Several people excused themselves past us in search of Pellegrino, and I became increasingly uncomfortable. He gently urged me to relax, and not knowing what else to do, I again said I had to go. He asked if I want to open my present. No, I didn't want to open my present next to organic all-purpose cleaner. As I declined, I fiddled my umbrella and suddenly my golf-sized umbrella burst opened in the middle of Whole Foods. Oops. My face burned. With his eyes on me, I struggled to quickly close it. He understood about the present but insisted on peaking into the bag containing his luxg lounge clothes, and I said: Just don't wear those two things together. Ever.
As if that was the main concern.
Then suddenly, without thought or preparation, I again said I had to leave and walked out the door without looking back. Normally, I always look back. I like a good melodramatic ending scene, but this time I couldn't bring myself to act it out. I couldn't even muster a "I hope you live into your possibility." And I love that line. All I could do was re-open my umbrella with purpose and without looking both ways, dash across the street. A car shrieked to a halt. The driver shook his head.
Thankfully, I didn't die. I don't want to die like that - near tears, clenching a hundred dollar bill. And I certainly don't want to die wearing rain boots. Because my main concern about death is what I'll be wearing.
Inside my concerned assistant manager asked me how it went. Whatever. I just wanted it to disappear and for a moment felt as bleak as the weather outside. I sat down at my office and complained for a solid ten minutes before I was called outside to monitor a photo shoot for our weekly product notification. When I went back outside, it wasn't raining anymore. It was like an entirely different day. The sky was clear and to the right was a giant, picturesque rainbow.
Get the rainbow in the picture, I said.
Emma Dinzebach
Posted by Emma Dinzebach at 12/28/2011 10:30 AM 
Categories: Relationships
Tags: Emma Dinzebach Emma Dilemma break-up break-up rules holiday break-ups Whole Foods
Categories: Relationships
Tags: Emma Dinzebach Emma Dilemma break-up break-up rules holiday break-ups Whole Foods
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