City Paper is not for tourists
Jacksonville, Florida health food retailer.
“Who am I?” I queried.
“You played that show at last night,” the representative explained. “I saw the show.”
“Guilty as charged!” I ejaculated.
“I enjoyed the show,” the representative explained. “But why are you here now?”
“I understand that this health food store is the finest health food store in all of Jacksonville, Flordia,” I retorted. “I am here to purchase breakfast and edible delicacies for my travels.”
“Well, let me show you around the store!” the representative exclaimed, whisking me on a whirlwind tour of numerous grocery-lined aisles. “Here is the produce. And here are the chips. And here are the dips that go with the chips. And here are the beverages. And here are some vitamins and assorted soy protein supplements. And here are the candy bars. And here are some sugar-coated cookies that you might enjoy. And here are the canned soups and microwavable burritos. Are you traveling with a microwave?”
“We forgot our microwave,” I explained.
“Well, no matter,” the representative replied. “Here are some cheeses. And here are some deli meats. And here is the juice bar. And here are the popsicles and ice cream. And here is the suntan lotion. And here are the travel mugs and toothbrushes. And here is the peanut butter. And here are the bulk sugared mango slices. And here are reusable grocery bags. And here is an assortment of magazines which inspire, document, and promote the leading of a healthy, meat and dairy-free lifestyle.”
“Your tour has been thorough,” I confirmed. I regarded the delectable bounty of consumables laid before me for some minutes. My mind turned to the opening chapters of the Old Testament. Had Adam been tempted with this horn o’plenty, I thought, Mankind ne’er would have been expelled from the Garden of Eden for his inability to choose one apple from many.
“Decided on a purchase?” the representative queried.
“After much deliberation, I have selected my purchases,” I declared. “I will buy this banana, this iced tea, and this fortified fruit-and-nut bar.” I deposited my selection of items next to the cash register, where a special was advertised. “Peanut Butter Smoothie,” the advertisement read. “16 oz. for $7.”
“How much is the peanut butter smoothie?” I inquired.
“Seven dollars,” the representative replied.
“Seven?” I asked. “Seven whole dollars for only 16 ounces?”
“It’s organic,” the representative offered.
“I’ll skip the smoothie,” I replied. Would Satan’s apple had cost $7, I thought, Adam ne’er would have been tempted by it.