I’ve experienced a lot of things in my time on this Earth, from the birth of my quadruplets to the dissolution of my decades-long marriage to the death of my grandmother. I thought life couldn’t surprise me anymore. That was until I went to Sweetgreen, and my custom salad came out to $1,950,300.39.
I thought it would be better to decide what went into my salad instead of ordering a premade one, but I never expected needing to file for bankruptcy just from visiting a salad bar.
And yeah, I asked if I could maybe put some stuff back but they said since it was already mixed I was stuck with it.
I didn’t even know it was legal to sell goods over a million dollars without a license, let alone charge someone the price of a Basquiat painting for a bowl of sorrel with extra avocado. All I did was dictate to someone else what kind of leaves they should mix together with vegetables (I asked to add microgreens) then tell them when to stop squirting the dressing.
I’ve seen so much in my lifetime, from the JFK assassination to the fall of the Berlin wall, yet the price of my build-your-own salad really topped all of that, surprise-wise. I ballparked the cost of my nutritious ensemble around $12 tops, believing it would be worthwhile to eat healthy for a day. But I ended up responsible for something the price of a castle by the sea somewhere in Monaco.
The microgreens dug my grave, the four core toppings forced me to lay in it, and the so-called “premium” toppings buried me alive. Foolishly, even after witnessing the great recession and the complicated economy of late capitalism, I made three lavish additions to my salad, including salmon, goat cheese and the real titan: avocado.
“Maybe this will be a little expensive,” I said to myself before seeing the price.
“I need to call my family,” I said after.
Being told you need to pay $1,950,300.39 when you’re not expecting it is a lot like being punched in the face for no reason, even if they do chop it right in front of you. For the same price, I could buy four shares of Berkshire Hathaway, an investment firm I read about in a dentist’s office once. Unfortunately I’m $1,950,300.39 in debt instead, but at least I can warn you all now: Just stick to the premade salads.