What I learned when I asked Metta World Peace for a picture at Whole Foods
It was the year 2012, and I found myself staring blankly at at a pack of brussels sprouts that cost 20% of my weekly food budget (sidenote: turns out I’ve been spelling brussels without that final “s” my entire life).
A woman in yoga pants reached over me and grabbed three packs, her iPhone armband narrowly missing my face as she nonchalantly tossed $50 of these beloved greens into her cart. I watched as those fiscally inaccessible sprouts sunk into a sea of boxed waters that listed “Water, Gentrification” as its sole ingredients.
A Pomeranian trotted past me, wearing a sweater and matching shoes that automatically placed it in the top 1% of living creatures in this world by household income. It looked back at me, shaming me for wearing white Champion socks with black Adidas sandals.
I let out a sigh.
Resignation overwhelmed me as I accepted my situation.
I was at Whole Foods Market.
The mecca of gentrification. The Restoration Hardware of grocery stores. The home of the $6 asparagus water.
To this day, I’ve been in a Whole Foods maybe less than five times (one of these visits was in Manhattan, where it housed the only public restroom within a ten-mile radius).
But on this beautiful Sunday in 2012, I was in Oakland, California, and my friend announced that a steak was to be cooked. And this steak was to be delicious, he said. And thus, a trip to the “local grocery store” was to occur.
Turns out this “local grocery store” was not the family-owned market with the “People Love Us on Yelp!” sticker at its entrance.
It was Whole Foods, AKA the sultan of residential displacement.
I shake my head.
Whatever. I am here, and I’ve accepted it.
As I was getting over the fact that I wasn’t having brussels sprouts that night, my phone buzzed, notifying me that a text message has blessed my phone from the heavens above.
It was from my friend, and there’s only one text message that ever gets sent between two friends that are walking around in the same market:
“Yo, where are you?”
“Produce section,” I texted back. Emojis weren’t around then, or else I would have put three of the red 100’s on afterwards.
Then he texted me the words I was waiting for:
“I’m at the cashier.”
Glee overtook my eyes as I sprinted over there like Ben Johnson on steroids (uh, I mean… if he doubled his standard dose).
I arrive excitedly to see a few T-bone steaks waiting valiantly on the conveyor belt, ready for us to cook and consume. All we need to do now is to swipe a piece of arbitrary plastic across a machine, move a set of numbers from one bank account to Whole Foods’ account, and reap the rewards of a cow’s death and countless hours’ worth of work in the process.
It truly is a weird world we live in.
As we were waiting for the dead cow parts to move toward the bar code scanner, I looked toward the exit, which was so close to me now.
And there I saw him.
The man who joined the Lakers in 2010 and won the championship that same year. The man who clinched that very championship with a late-game three-pointer in Game 7 against the Celtics. The man with a short-lived rap career that was criminally overlooked.
Yes. It was Metta World Peace, or the artist formerly known as Ron Artest.
Even though I’m not a huge basketball fan, I am most certainly a fan of this dude. This man was able to overcome the deeply negative stigma attached to his persona through the Pacers/Pistons brawl of 2004, proactively work on his inner self to quell his anger issues, hold a 13.5 PPG average over a prolific 18-year career, and become an advocate for mental health issues across the country (oh, let’s not forget that rap album too).
I’m not one to ask a celebrity for a picture if I see him/her, as that’s the last thing someone with fame would probably want. In fact, if it were Kobe or LeBron, I would’ve thought it was appropriate that they were shopping at Whole Foods, but asking for a picture wouldn’t have crossed my mind.
But here was the situation:
(A) I was 5 years younger than I am now,
(B) I was very excited to leave Whole Foods, and
(C) Metta World Peace was next to the very door I was looking forward to exiting.
The combination of youth, excitement, and this serendipitous alignment of goals propelled me to do what I haven’t done since.
I pulled out my phone, waltzed over to him, and asked that question:
“Hey, uh, Ron. I mean, Metta! Is it cool if I take a picture with you?”
He smiled, just as I thought he would, and quickly motioned for me to come over. “Yeah… uh… yeah! Come on!” The same franticness you saw in his 2010 NBA Finals Game 7 post-game interview was also on full display here.
He was with a friend, so I asked her if she could take the picture for us. She happily obliged as I went over to Metta to do the awkward arm-around-the-shoulder pose so we would look like distant friends.
While in the midst of our arm dancing, he asked his friend, “What about that selfie thing people do these days?! How about we do that thing instead?”
His friend laughed and said that she was ready to take the picture already, so forget about the selfie.
I laughed giddily.
Oh, Ron. I mean, Metta. You're so silly, just like you are on the TV.
We both looked toward the phone/camera, ready to capture that moment. Sure, the background was going to be a cabinet full of kale baby oils, but at least the foreground was of Metta Fucking World Peace.
*Click*
"Okay, all done!" His friend extended my phone back to me as I excitedly reached out for it.
I looked back at Metta. "Thanks so much man, really appreciate it!"
He waved, picked up his groceries, and started to make his way toward the exit. I then looked at my phone to check out how the awesome photo turned out.
My heart sank. Oh no.
There was no photo of me and Metta with kale baby oils in the background. In fact, there were no kale baby oils at all.
There was just one photo. It was of the ceiling of the Whole Foods in Oakland, California. Metta's friend must have accidentally tilted the phone upwards while taking the picture and got nothing but stucco.
The universe was playing a trick on me that day.
I was so disappointed and flustered that I decided to throw a Hail Mary. As Metta and his friend were leaving the store, I blurted out, "Hey, Metta! The picture didn't come out! M-M-Metta!"
And at that precise moment, the doors slid open as I caught a glimpse of freedom. A brilliant light rushed in and outlined Metta's body as he crossed the threshold of the exit. Time slowed as he turned around, his head illuminated by the glare of the afternoon sun.
He smiled, waved playfully, and spoke his final words to me:
“Don’t worry man. They’ll believe you!"
And with that, the doors closed. The once brilliant light was now reduced to a tiny sliver on the ground, pondering the brief opportunity it had to illuminate such an awesome person.
And just like that, he was gone.
I stood there in silence, my phone limping in my hand, temporarily frozen on an image of a beige ceiling that saw one too many spin class participants.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to feel. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
That response echoed in the forefront of my mind.
"Don't worry man. They'll believe you..."
It was hilarious. It was philosophical. It was so layered.
It was so... Metta.
That response showed me how in tune he was with human beings and our unhealthy obsessions. He knew that the only reason I wanted that photo was for me to show it to other people.
If it were just for me, I wouldn't need a picture of it. A memory of the encounter would be more than enough.
But he knew that the moment I took it, I would try to upload it onto Facebook, Twitter, etc. so I can share it with my friends and followers. The caption would read, "Me and Metta!" with a geolocation tag showing that I was at Whole Foods in Oakland.
But wait, why would I want to show that I was at Whole Foods? Don't I dislike that place with a passion?
Eh, yeah, but it makes for a better story. Under the guise of social media, only edited versions of our narratives tend to roam free.
"Don't worry man. They'll believe you..."
He even prefaced it by saying "Don't worry." He felt that he needed to ease my disappointment because a story simply isn't enough these days.
Sharing a picture that collects likes and retweets gives us more dopamine hits than re-telling the event to a friend (it really is the new crack cocaine). Our life events need to be visually validated with a photo or video that catches a glimpse of that "epic" encounter.
Here's a scenario for you to consider. What if your camera was designed to make the "click" noise once you press the button, but actually captures the moment 2 seconds after you press it?
So instead of the smiles and staged poses with your version of Metta World Peace, it captures that moment where your facial expressions are blank and both of you are thinking, "Welp, that’s over with. Thank goodness. Bye!”
What does that tell us about how woefully out-of-touch we can be with the only time that matters... the "now"? And how can we ensure that we are enjoying it to the fullest extent?
If I were to condense my brief time with Metta World Peace to one key learning, it would be this:
Human beings are obsessed with capturing the present moment, but rarely do we actually live within it.
We now have the ability to encapsulate the present moment, package it as a memory, and push it to the world. However, when you decide to capture a moment with the intent to distribute it, you are no longer living in the present. Sure, that photo you took or the video you recorded represents an image of that point in time, but your mind has already shifted gears into a future that hasn't happened yet.
The moment your phone goes up to capture something, there is now an intermediary between you and this very experience you're attempting to immortalize. There is a filter that is being added to the potential impact of the raw experience itself.
So the next time you find yourself awkwardly extending your arm to record an amazing live drum solo instead of simply soaking it in, ask yourself the following three questions:
(1) Who is this for?
(2) Is my focus on the actual moment itself or the capturing of it?
(3) What is my likelihood of even revisiting this damn footage?
The answers to those questions will help clarify whether you should put your phone away or continue recording a video that will sound like it was recorded through a toilet paper tube.
"Don't worry man. They'll believe you..."
Metta told me that they would believe my story about our encounter, even if I had nothing to prove its validity.
He still has hope for a world driven by Facebook posts, Twitter feeds, and Snapchat stories. He trusts that humanity will be able to look beyond the shallowness of visual proof and photographs with celebrities. His belief in me shows that he still subscribes to the power of stories and their ability to conquer doubt. His words echoed the importance of living in the present moment and immersing yourself in it…
Or it is entirely possible that he was just being funny. Which he definitely was.
But regardless, thank you, Metta, for unknowingly teaching me a valuable lesson that Sunday afternoon. Thank you, Metta, for hitting that Game 7 three-pointer in the fourth quarter. Thank you, Metta, for actually releasing that one song with Mike Jones.
But most importantly, thank you, Metta, for being you.
If going to a Whole Foods means another chance encounter with you, I'll be waiting in the produce section.
And this time, I'll make sure to leave my phone at home.
Hey there, I’m Lawrence, and I make beats under the name Trebles and Blues. You can find my music by viewing my discography or by heading over to my Soundcloud page.
