Slipping gradually out of the crook of my elbow is a plastic bottle containing questionable green liquid and proudly advertising the bold Jimbo’s…Naturally label. Awkwardly, as is normal for me, I juggle the multiple food items around in my arms during my journey through Jimbo’s.

As I bee line a path towards the checkout, I skew around a ridiculously expensive yet unattended stroller, a grown man who could be anywhere from 25 to 40 due to the uncertainty exhibited by his facial hair, and a particularly intimidating cluster of middle-aged blonde women wearing identical pairs of black yoga pants and fuchsia Nikes (think Athletic Barbies with a hint of proud mom).

Once I arrive safely at lane five, I set the jumble of items on the conveyor belt gently, so as not to upset the food. And then, like most wonderful things, my bliss of success is proven merely temporary by a single stark realization followed by intense guilt. The bag.

Conceivably, one may be wondering how awful it would be to approach the checkout lane lacking a reusable tote.

Imagine the slow motion and deeply echoed booing of your name, the spewed array of beaded saliva discharged from the mouths of those utterly disgusted by your lack of preparedness, and worst of all, the disappointed shake of a cashier’s head (Steve) who you are somewhat familiar with from past visits. I have forgotten my tote bag at home. I can picture it strung disappointedly over a hanger in my closet, perhaps shedding a single tear while the world’s smallest violin is played.

The reusable bag, if forgotten, would go unnoticed in a Stater Bros. or Ralph’s or even a Trader Joe’s due to their politeness, but in a Jimbo’s it is certain one will be shunned. Perhaps it is due to the air of earth friendliness mixed with the dog charity jars that outnumber those for children, combined with a dash of selling six dollar water bottles; perhaps it is this that sets Jimbo’s apart from the rest.

Whether roaming the gluten-free food aisles of Sprouts, ordering the bubbly green drink of death (wheatgrass) at Jimbo’s, or sifting through the overpriced Swiss chocolate at Whole Foods; there is a time when all of us have ventured into a health food store and come out the exit either empowered by helping the humane society or ashamed for being the outcast without a bag.

Perhaps the argument could be made that health food grocers are the Superego of society, while Ralph’s and Stater Bros. are the Id. Naturally, health stores put out many helpful things, and reusable bags are one of them. Created to decrease humanity’s carbon footprint, reusable bags are ultimately beneficial to society. On occasion and in certain stores (such as Target or CVS Pharmacy) people can receive at least a five percent discount off food items. However, when you enter a health store without a tote bag you are looked down upon and made to be the guilty outcast, just like the new kid arriving to a new high school in every 90s teen movie ever made.

The cashier’s eyes seem to loop back into his head as you ask for plastic and the realization hits him that you are without bag. His smile crawls off his face and onto the floor, waiting to be picked up again when a bag-bearing customer appears.
Perhaps Jimbo’s places an emphasis on reusable bags, as do most of society’s health conscious/earth hugging folks. Perhaps it places undeserved guilt on the customers for their lack of a tote. Though it is ridiculous to have guilt forced on you due to a lack of a material item, the stress and brunt of being the outcast was all worthwhile.

After withstanding utter humiliation and a lower-level shunning, I stride out of the store, my eyes dancing at the sight of my blueberry scone. Food makes the pain of Jimbo’s something healthy to endure.