With one exception, Jeff Stein ranked shopping for food somewhere between elective root canal work and a kidney stone. He hated everything about markets: the lighting, the decision-making, the people playing bumper carts, and above all the checkout lines where someone would suddenly want to run off in search of a forgotten item, fumble hopelessly for a misplaced credit card, gab endlessly, or ever so slowly count out fifty-two, or sixty-eight, or seventy-four pennies.

The one exception for Jeff was a vestige of an era before skyrocketing real estate prices transmogrified funky Southern California beach towns into a realm of McMansions, Maseratis, and Teslas, plus Range Rovers on safari toward yoga class or Pilates.

Real Foods, as the little cooperative was called, was a place where Jeff felt at ease among bins of organic almonds and dried apricots, narrow aisles of organic artichokes and Persian cucumbers, and freezers stocked with small batch ice creams. It was a home-away-from-home where he knew the staff, and they knew him. Where special orders for hard-to-find goodies were taken--and acted upon--with no grumbling or delay. And where the workers and shoppers constituted a veritable rainbow coalition.

That Jeff was at Real Foods so often owed to the division of labor between Jenny and him. He did the bulk of the shopping, while she tended to the house. Still, they were hardly the stereotypical Real Foods household--not vegan, gluten-free, macrobiotic, low carb, or fruitatarian. Nor did they adhere to an Atkins, Stillman, or Paleo regimen. Their stance on food was simple. Except for some artisanal ice cream in the freezer, or an occasional rhubarb tart delivered by a friend dubbed the Mad Baker, they ate healthy at home, saving indulgences for outings with friends for Japanese, Sichuan, Persian, Ethiopian, Mexican, or Vietnamese, plus a once-in-a-blue-moon pastrami sandwich at a deli on the other side of L.A.

So it came as a surprise early one Tuesday morning when, while eyeing some organic blue corn tamales at Real Foods, Jeff was approached by the store's General Manager. "Got a favor to ask," Mel Nowell began. "The store's got its fortieth anniversary coming up. Since we're planning a party, any chance I can persuade you to produce a little video?"

"It's not exactly what I do," replied Jeff.

"I've seen your documentaries about criminal justice, boxing, and that Afro-centric artist district--"

"Which are rarely confused with tofu and sprouts-" Jeff interjected.

"But you know the store's history, the staff, the shoppers--"

"How many minutes?" asked Jeff.

"Ten? Maybe twelve?"

Jeff pondered for a moment. "If I say yes--big if--I'll need help."

"Tell me what you need."

"The camera loves personalities," Jeff offered. "So you'll have to corral the right staffers, shoppers, farmers, and vendors to interview."

"Anything else?"

"Some bucks. I won't take anything for myself, but I'll need to pay my camera guy and my editor."

 

Mel Nowell quickly lined up characters galore. First, four employees from across the racial spectrum (white, Black, Chicano, Burmese), plus himself and the marketing director. Next, five shoppers of different ages and ethnicities, three providers of small batch products (pasta sauces, chutneys, granola). Then three farmers (eggs, dairy, vegetables).

Having prepared a series of topics that would allow him to intercut between the interviewees, Jeff spent two days filming--one at the store he frequented, the other at the recent spinoff that surprised him, and not in a good way. Situated in a town that was less than twenty minutes away at noon, but double that at rush hour, the second store was the antithesis of the one he frequented. Large rather than cozy, garish instead of funky, it seemed to be striving for trendiness, but falling short. As Jeff expressed to Jenny that evening, "Anything trying to be hip isn't."

Though Jeff squeezed half a week's worth of filming into two marathon days, including b-roll-footage of the two stores' interiors and exteriors--what could have been a burden proved to be enjoyable thanks to the colorful folks he interviewed, among them Mel Nowell and the ebullient marketing director, Tina Gomez.

Jeff's plan, which came to life during the editing process, was to divide the video into chapters: "History," "Community," "Diversity," "Why I Shop At Real Foods," and "What I Like Best About the Real Foods experience." To the finished cut he added a colorful montage powered by a tune from the distant past: "Yes, We Have No Bananas."

 

After receiving an ovation at the event where the video was screened, Jeff assumed that his role as anything other than a shopper was over. Then Mel Nowell called to see if the two of them could meet for lunch. "We need someone like you on the Board of Directors," Mel announced at a taco joint. "Someone who knows what makes Real Foods special and has no hidden agenda."

"Can't I be an astronaut instead?" Jeff joked. "Or play for the Dodgers?"

"Is that a firm no?"

"Pretty close," said Jeff.

When Mel Nowell persisted with calls and emails, Jeff asked what exactly would be involved. He was told that except for emergencies, mainly it meant attending a monthly meeting.

Mel Nowell winced when Jeff asked him to describe the meetings, then acknowledged that they tended to be long, repetitive, and dull. Worse, they were generally held at the second store, which meant having to fight through rush hour traffic.

When the pandemic hit, Mel Nowell went out of his way to make life easier for Jeff and Jenny. Even before online food shopping and home deliveries became commonplace, he took to dropping off groceries off at their cottage. When the run on paper goods made those items hard to obtain, he began supplying them with what he called Care Packages.

"I'm grateful," Jeff stated one afternoon when Mel made yet another delivery. "But tell me what you want as payback."

"Why payback?" asked Mel.

"Why breathing?" countered Jeff.

"I know you were dreading having to truck across town to Board meetings, then being stuck with no way to escape."

"You've got a keen eye for detail."

"What if they're now on Zoom?"

"Still--"

"And you can be spared the election process by being named a Special Advisor?"

"Somebody's persistent," said Jeff.

"That's my middle name."

 

Jeff's first Zoom meeting immediately brought to mind an observation his basketball buddy, Rashad Parker, once made about Little League parents. The first season they seem mildly amusing. During season 2, their quirks become less tolerable. By Season 3, justifiable homicide.

Among the Board members Jeff encountered on the first Zoom was the President, George Hillman, who seemed to personify forced affability. Plus Klaus Kruger, who instantly proved himself to be a stickler for rules and regulations. Also, Ebony Jones, who found ways to reference or insert the word diversity as often as possible, even when speaking about millet or cashews. And Mehrdad Nouri, whose never-ending ode to a vegan lifestyle Jeff suspected would be repeated ad nauseam in the months to come. Not to be forgotten was Ariel Philips, a font of buzz words whose meanings, to Jeff, were both elusive and irrelevant: unicorn, boujee, vibe check, jassifie among others.

After an hour or so of what Jeff considered to be meaningless chit-chat, the tone shifted when George intoned, "Time to talk about Mel."

Instantly, the Board members Jeff had categorized, plus a couple of others who joined the Zoom late, went into attack mode. "He's too distant," Jeff heard. "Too arrogant." "Doesn't confer before making decisions." "Isn't stopping the bleeding."

Jeff listened to rants for roughly ten minutes before speaking up. "This is all new to me, but it begs a question. Are you aware there's a pandemic?" Told that was irrelevant, Jeff bristled. "Which store's the problem, the new or the old one?" Informed that the main problem was the new location, Jeff made no effort to hide his dismay. "And was it flourishing before Covid hit?"

Greeted with silence, Jeff continued. "Am I the only one who feels that unlike the store that means so much to me, the new place is cold, sterile, and basically Whole Paycheck Lite?"

"Are you finished?" asked George Hillman.

"I'm just getting started," countered Jeff. "Isn't this the group that gave the go-ahead for that location?"

"Yes, but--" mumbled Klaus Kruger.

"But, nothing," interrupted Jeff. "And isn't this the same group that hired and fired the last General Manager?"

"What's your point?" interjected Ariel Phillips.

"Under Mel, the store I hit regularly is ten, twenty, maybe fifty times better than it was under the last two G.M.'s."

"The point is it's losing money," said Mehrdad Nouri.

"And with Covid, what isn't?" asserted Jeff. "So let me ask a question. What's the definition of a camel?"

"I bet you're going to tell us," sneered Ebony Jones.

"A horse designed by committee."

 

Aware that not one of the Board members had manifested the slightest bit of affection for the store, or for the marked improvements under Mel Nowell's leadership, Jeff was tempted to call him to get the lowdown on the recriminations. Instead he waited until Mel arrived with another delivery. "What's their problem?" Jeff asked while he and Mel stood on the front porch.

"What isn't their problem?" Mel replied. "What it comes down to is they want control."

"Do any of them know anything about the food business?"

"Not that I've noticed. But hey, I don't want you stuck in a crossfire."

"Don't worry about me," said Jeff.

"You sure?"

"I eat people like them for breakfast. But there's something I need from you."

"Tell me."

"They won't like it."

"Fine by me," said Mike.

 

At the next Zoom meeting, Jeff listened as one Board member after another once again blamed the diminished grosses on Mel Nowell. Then he made his presence known. "Is Mel responsible for Whole Foods?" he asked. "Or Erewhon? Or Trader Joe's or Albertsons?"

"Why would he be responsible?" yelled Klaus Kruger.

"According to the papers," stated Jeff, "their sales are down worse than ours."

"That doesn't explain why people aren't buying from us," insisted Ariel Phillips.

"Let me hit you with something." To the dismay of the others, Jeff began reading aloud the pittance most Board member had spent at Real Foods during the three previous months.

"This is irrelevant!" shouted Ebony.

Ignoring her, Jeff continued, getting an indignant response from George, who demanded he stop.

Undeterred, Jeff continued to cite the piddling sums spent by every Board members except Klaus and himself.

"What goddamn point are you making?" yelled a clearly embarrassed Ariel.

"That it's in bad faith to blame the fall-off on Mel when so few of you are shopping at our stores."

 

The next evening, while settling in to watch a ballgame on TV, Jeff was surprised by a call from Ebony Jones. "Hope you realize," she began brusquely, "you're not exactly making friends."

"Is this on behalf of the Board, or yourself?"

"Both."

"As offensive as this is, it's nice to hear you talking about something other than diversity."

"You're opposed to diversity?" hissed Ebony..

"What do you know about me?" countered Jeff.

"That you're an arrogant--"

When Ebony hesitated, Jeff spoke. "Finish your sentence."

"White guy!"

"So tell me," said Jeff. "Which one of us is on the Board of one of the Historic Black Colleges?"

"You better not be bullshitting!"

"Ever heard of North Carolina A&T?"

"Well--"

"And which one of us is on the Board of the Compton Baseball Academy?"

"I-I don't know what to say," mumbled Ebony.

"I do. See ya!" said Jeff, hanging up.

 

"Things okay?" asked Rashad Parker on Saturday morning to shoot baskets in Jeff's backyard since their regular playground haunt was closed due to Covid.

"Guess who was accused of being a racist," replied Jeff.

Rashad laughed. "You're a racist like I'm white. But hey, maybe you are a little racist," he then said with a chuckle. "You've sometimes got a thing about about white people until proven otherwise."

 

That night, sleep was elusive. Peeved that his documentary about a rock & roller who was accused of having a hit every ten years whether he wanted to or not was on hold due to the pandemic, Jeff spent a couple of hours tossing and turning. Afraid of waking Jenny, he finally climbed out of bed and tiptoed into the kitchen. There he pondered about what he'd gotten himself into at Real Foods. Those thoughts led to wondering about the motives of the different Board members. George Hillman, it seemed, was like a high school kid wanting to list an extracurricular activity on his college applications. Klaus Kruger acted like a frustrated would-be Boy Scout leader. Mehrdad seemed like a lonely soul in need of people to talk to, whereas Ariel Phillips ached to show off her putative hipness. As for Ebony Jones, she behaved as though life depended on one-upping everyone else.

Unhappiness about being in such dreary company reminded Jeff of a joke.

Q: Why is there so much backstabbing in academia?

A: Because the stakes are so low.

 

In the days that followed, Jeff cringed each and every time he heard another report about mounting hate crimes against Asians. Convinced that the violence was spurred by his least favorite president using terms like Asia Virus and Kung Flu, which led to old ladies being punched, couples being spit at, and young kids being threatened, Jeff called George Hillman.

"We need to issue a statement showing our support for the Asian community," he declared.

"Good idea," responded George. "We'll take it up at our next meeting."

"Three-and-a-half weeks from now? It's gotta be now!"

Less then two minutes after hanging up, a call came in. "There's such a thing as procedure," Klaus Kruger bellowed at Jeff.

"Procedure, my ass!" Jeff retorted.

Next it was Ariel Philips' turn. "Why do you think you can suddenly make the rules?" she demanded.

"Because," answered Jeff, "extraordinary times demand extraordinary measures."

"And if we say no?"

"You'll get steamrolled."

Jeff promptly drafted a statement, which he emailed to Mel Nowell and Tina Gomez, both of whom immediately expressed their gratitude.

"Gotta warn you," Jeff told them on a conference call. "The Board's against it."

"Chicken shits!" moaned Tina.

"Sending it out won't endear you two," said Jeff.

"Fuck 'em!" snarled Mel. "Let's do what's right."

 

Despite the outpouring of thanks via calls, emails, and texts--and not just from the community--George led a concerted effort to chastise Jeff during the next Zoom, with Ariel Philips, Klaus Kruger, and Ebony Jones chiming in.

Jeff listened quietly until asked if he understood.

"What I understand is simple," he replied. "When it's a matter of doing what's right, get out of my fucking way!"

"Y-you're not being collegial," George Hillman stammered.

"No shit!" stated Jeff.

The silence that ensued ended when Klaus Kruger spoke. "I suggest we take a ten minute break."

 

Before the Zoom resumed, Jeff called Mel Nowell. "How much," he asked, "are you willing to fight for your job?"

"I've pretty much had it," sighed Mel. "But how come you're asking?"

"Trust me," Jeff said.

 

"Know what these sessions remind me of?" asked Jeff once things were again underway.

"I bet you'll tell us," retorted Ariel.

"A Roadrunner cartoon where every time we start all over again."

"Are you saying we should keep Mel on?" offered Ariel snidely.

"Since we have Due Cause," said Klaus, "I say we pull the plug now."

George Hillman's request for a show of hands in favor yielded everyone but Jeff.

"So it's a done deal except maybe a token severance payment," stated George, engendering looks of relief that were shattered when Jeff spoke.

"You're forgetting something."

"Namely?" wondered George.

"Covid likely qualifies as what's known as Force Majeure. Plus a court case is hardly the kind of PR we need."

Before anyone could differ, Klaus glumly acknowledged that Jeff was right.

 

When they spoke the following day, Mel Nowell was not the least bit unhappy to learn that rather than a token severance, Jeff's maneuvering would yield a payment equal to three months wages.

Even better, Mel was already receiving overtures from other stores.

 

Once the pandemic was finally over, as he and Jenny were about to sit down for dinner at their favorite Thai restaurant, Jeff got a call asking if he'd be willing to join the Board of a local non-profit. Determined thereafter to restrict his activism to causes that mattered deeply to him, he promptly declined.

As he explained to Jenny once he hung up, "Been there, done that."

---

Alan Swyer is an award-winning filmmaker whose recent documentaries have dealt with Eastern spirituality in the Western world, the criminal justice system, diabetes, boxing, and singer Billy Vera. In the realm of music, among his productions is an album of Ray Charles love songs. His novel The Beard was recently published by Harvard Square Editions.