I don’t go to clubs. I don’t gamble. But send me into the produce section and suddenly I’m James Bond on a mission—one squishy avocado, two stalks of broccoli, and a produce manager who’s probably live-streaming my every move. Welcome to my weekly fruit-and-veggie heist, where the stakes are high, the bananas are judgmental, and aisle 5 never forgets.
I am a fresh fruit and veggie guy. For the most part, fruits and veggie’s make up 90 percent of what I buy each week. When I go to the supermarket I spend most of my time in the produce section. I look at the produce section much like I look at a trip to a Vegas slot machine, i’m never quite sure that I’m going to pick a winner. Picking avocados is a good example. I don’t want to wait three weeks for an avocado to ripen so I feel the avocados, is too hard, too soft, or just right? How does the skin feel? Is it smooth or have more acne than a teenager? Then there’s the produce manager who has his iPhone in his hand wanting to call the produce police on me. The manager follows me to the broccoli. He’s faking he’s working on arranging the cauliflower, but my paranoid self knows he is watching me. I glance at him to see if he is secretly videoing me. He’ll probably post it on X with a snarky comment and get likes by other produce managers. I feel the broccoli crowns. If they feel wimpy I move on. After several tries I found two firm broccoli crowns. Next, I head to the bananas. When I get to the bananas I see the produce manager working on arranging the kiwi. He must have been blind at one time because he’s staring at me and arranging the Kiwi without looking at them. Since I live alone, I’m not going to buy a big bunch of bananas. This means I have to break off two bananas from a bunch. Not just two bananas, but the perfect two bananas, not too ripe, not too green. I reach for the bananas the produce manager reaches for his iPhone. I’m thinking I know the banana code its 4011. I won’t bag them. I’ll place them in my cart and bolt for the self-checkout. Now that’s a whole other different experience.
So the next time you see someone inspecting avocados like they’re holding a Fabergé egg, give them a nod of respect. We’re not just shopping—we’re living on the edge, one avocado at a time.