A Bag of Avocados and a Martini
My GenX solution to a lousy week of work
At 6:12 p.m, I realized the work day felt like an eternity starting at 11 a.m. and needed to simply end. With my colleagues already offline, as they were when I started the day, I locked the screen and took a deep breath.
I gathered my breakfast plate, lunch plate, coffee mug, four empty Mountain Dew Zero bottles, and two empty sparkling water cans. Balancing all this, along with my two phones I wished hard that one of the cats didn’t decide to take up residence on the stairs in front of me — I didn’t want to die in a bad mood.
Of course, I probably wouldn’t have died, at least not right away, not with the way the day had been going. Maimed would have been more probable. Definitely would have caused more random pieces of cartilage to break loose and float around in my knee.
I made it into the kitchen unscathed and only dropped an empty can as I laid all of my collection on the bar to sort. The plates filled the dishwasher, and so I started it. The recycling bin was already full on the porch. It didn’t seem reasonable to start the dishwasher and empty the recycling bin — especially since I noticed as I tossed a tissue that the trash was also full. I regathered the bottles and cans and walked them out to the large receptacle on the porch.
Maybe I should go somewhere, I thought. I had nothing I needed to go to or actually do. No legitimate reason to hop in my car and drive around at $5 a gallon for fuel. I contemplated a trip to CVS for hair color, but then remembered I had an appointment in a few weeks that I’m seriously considering canceling. I’ve wondered just how gray my natural hair is but I already know — it’s a lot.
Yes, I need avocados. And yogurt. Yes, I definitely need avocados and yogurt. It’s what I’ve been missing from breakfast. Obviously, I should also get myself a coffee while I’m out — yes, that’s only logical after all who can go avocado shopping at Whole Foods in their SUV without an oat milk latte procured in a drive-thru line four SUVs deep? And why are there so many SUVs at Starbucks at any given time anyway?
The drive to Whole Foods requires me to pass no less than four establishments that sell avocados and vegan yogurts. These are not elusive items, at least not anymore. There was a time not too long ago you couldn’t get a vegan yogurt at your typical Shoprite. Sure, they don’t have a wide variety, but it’s possible. And with avocados being a staple of Millennials everywhere, I’m pretty sure I could have gotten one at the local convenience store — they no longer sell baked potato chips, but I’m certain an avocado isn’t out of reach.
On a day when technology continued to fail, meetings were back to back, deadlines loomed, and I found myself questioning the intentions of people, it was an assault on the nerves with a thousand grains of sand. There are more good days than bad, but the notice that fell into my inbox advertising an opening for a communications director at a local Ivy League school was tempting in a moment of emotional weakness.
It’s just been a really long day.
My friend texted after an exchange about the pros and cons of the posting. She wasn’t wrong. It was flirtation out of fleeting frustration, not unlike half-price beer on a Wednesday night in the local dive bar. I started thinking though, half-priced beer or not, I am always longing to look at a bottle of top-shelf vodka wondering if I should just order myself a martini.
“Good god,” I heard the woman exclaim across what could only be described as an expanse of avocados, “when the hell did avocados get so expensive?”
I didn’t have to look to know she was part of my forgotten generation. We had become so accustomed to paying only a dollar for an avocado that the $2.50 price tag did have me double-checking that these weren’t organic or something.
I scooted around the other side of the table where I could get a whole bag of not quite ripe fruits for five dollars. I mean, it was a made-up excursion, I might as well pretend I needed four — especially at that price.
I decided to get some bread at the bakery, in case I wanted avocado toast when they ripened. If they ripened. For some reason unimaginable to me, Whole Foods has decided that their customers can operate the bread slicing machine on their own. There is signage, but as I fumbled the loaf like a football, opening various hatches and trying to figure out where the bread went on only my third time using the contraption, I decided it was because Jeff Bezos is the richest cheapskate in the world.
My bread needs slicing by professionals, or machines. I have never been good with a loaf of bread and a knife. My slices are either too large for a toaster or resemble a wedge of bread, versus a slice.
No one wants an avocado wedge, that’s just not reasonable. It’s also quite unappetizing. Can you imagine a wedge of bread with avocado chunks? There would only be maybe three bites where the bread to fruit ratio would be correct. I’ve always been envious of those who can freehand cut a perfect slice.
My bread handled, I knew a piece of chocolate was the only possible way to overcome the trauma of the slicing machine. Whole Foods is also slacking on its delicious options when it comes to vegan chocolate. It’s like they schemed with my convenience store on discontinuing the products that I buy.
I made my way to the self-checkout since it was line free. Another DIY improvement that popped up around the time Bezos’s divorce became public. I have to admit though that I do enjoy not having to make small talk at the checkout line most of the time.
I know I don’t have to talk to the person scanning and probably judging my purchases but as a former cashier, I feel it’s my obligation. None of the trite comments like “Is it free if it doesn’t scan” — people always think that is funny or that they just came up with it, but they are probably the 40th person to say it that day.
I ask if they are having a good day, or if they have plans for the night. Most seem happy someone is treating them like a person, but the occasional person eyes me like I’m a serial killer.
I got back into my car and see new emails about other jobs in the area. One site thought I would be the perfect manager for a storage facility, while another wanted me to know about the ease of glass repair. I wasn’t sure how I got on these lists, but I decided to not unsubscribe — at least not for the moment. I still was considering that martini.