Wore a Black Apron to Whole Foods. You Already Know.
Look, I'd seen the posts. I'd laughed at the posts. "Never wear a black apron into Whole Foods," they said. I filed it under "cute internet exaggeration" and moved on with my life.
I was a fool.
It was a Sunday morning. I'd come straight from a pottery class still had clay under my fingernails and needed to grab a few things. Kombucha, some overpriced crackers, you know the drill. I happened to be wearing a black canvas apron over my shirt because I'd forgotten to take it off in the car. No logo. No name tag. Just vibes and dried clay.
I made it approximately four minutes into the store.
First it was a guy in his 30s asking me where the oat milk was. I pointed vaguely toward the dairy aisle and said "I think over there?" He nodded like I'd given him sacred wisdom and walked away satisfied.
Then an older woman asked if we carried a specific brand of bone broth. We. WE.
By the time I reached the cracker aisle, a small queue had formed. I had somehow become the unofficial ambassador of artisanal groceries. A child pointed at me and said "that man works here." His mother did not correct him.
I bought my crackers and left without making eye contact with anyone.
The apron is now in the trunk. It stays there.