At a new Whole Foods store on the Upper East Side. The store has a confusing layout – I enter through the exit, wander back and forth, straying upstairs to the seating area and into a dead end before eventually finding my way to the main shopping area. And even here the organization is perplexing: the prepared foods and split between sections that stretch along a kind of half-truncated hallway. I want something like a veggie wrap, and I eventually find a deli counter where I spot what look like wraps. A clerk approaches. ‘Yes?’ I ask for the ‘veggie wrap,’ but the clerk can’t see the placards, and he asks me to point to what I want. He retrieves the wrap, then realizes that without a label he can’t tell what the price of the item is. He asks a co-worker. She tells him to look at one of the wraps that’s cut open for display (the one I’ve seen); he does, successfully identifies the wrap, and carefully packages it, and hands it to me. I find the checkout at the other end of the store, pay for my item, and climb the stairs back to the seating area where I originally strayed. I sit down and take out the wrap: I’m famished. I bite into it and discover it’s turkey and cheese. I return to the other end of the store, find the clerk who served me, and explain what happened. He apologizes, then again consults he coworker. ‘Sir, we don’t have veggie wraps. If you want your money back you can go to customer service at the other end of the store.’ Shuddering at the thought of another long trip which won’t have gotten me anything to eat, I ask if it wouldn’t be possible to make me a wrap from scratch. She hesitates. ‘Just with veggies?’ she asks. ‘Yeah, I mean, if possible –’ ‘We’ve got eggplant, you want that?’ ‘Sure, that sounds great,’ I say. She makes the wrap and I thank her profusely, cross the store again, climb the stairs, sit back down at the same table and bite into my veggie wrap. It’s perfect, I think to myself.