I really need you to let me make my own peanut butter.
It’s no more complicated than flipping a switch and holding my plastic cup under the spout. I don’t need your help with this.
You’ve seen me do it several times–you even complimented me on bringing my own empty jar from home– but you keep coming over to assist me, then flip the switch yourself. Please leave me alone. Please give me the satisfaction of watching the magic of peanuts becoming butter.
I’m sure that if I wanted to switch it up and make some macadamia butter or cashew butter, I might give you a nod, a simple, “Hey, trying something new over here, better keep an eye.” But I can’t even do this because you’ve got the macadamia butter grinder behind the counter.
I get it, I get it. Macadamia nuts are more expensive than peanuts. But doesn’t it stand to reason that if I can manage the peanuts, I should be able to manage macadamias using an identical machine?
You’re on a power trip.
This small display case of nuts in the middle of the supermarket is unlike anything the other Safeways have. It’s your domain. It’s your island, Dr. Moreau. But you’re going to have to learn to trust your customers. Or we will revolt.
And it won’t be pretty.
There’s nothing stopping someone from, let’s say, slipping an old potato into the peanut reservoir. An old potato, a bunch of spinach, an avocado pit.
Ever seen what an avocado pit does to a peanut grinder? You weren’t in Saigon, were you. Well, shit gets messy. Real messy.
Is that a threat? No.
I’m just saying what could happen if you don’t back off a little, maybe bring some variety to the grinders: toasted almonds, hazelnuts, Brazil nuts (just kidding–nobody wants Brazil nut butter–see, we’re on the same team here).
Listen, overall I think I speak for everyone when I say that you’re doing a respectable job. A fine job even. But the next time you see me getting ready to make peanut butter, how bout you just let me be. Give me the benefit of the doubt.
I’ll even wipe up my drips.
