Dear Sweet Greens, 

Allow me to paint you a picture, oil on canvas if you will. 

It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m jonesing for your legendary Kale Caesar Salad. ‘Make lunch at home, you stupid bitch,’ I think to myself. But life is short and I only have half an avocado so I make the decision that shocked a nation (unsure which one at this time)… I decide to get the salad. 

I shower, throw on some black, linen slacks and a vintage black t-shirt. I complete the ensemble with a pair of cherished, black, open toe sandals. What winter? Lol. 

The nearest Sweet Greens is about a seven minute drive, and although the drive is brisk, the parking is like a picnic without any brie cheese… not a picnic I’d like to attend. 

After a couple of suave albeit slightly dangerous driving maneuvers, I find a free parking spot. Could life get any better? Turns out, no. No it couldn’t.

I cross the hectic intersection that is Sunset and Gower and place myself in a line of approximately four people. 

I take advantage of the short wait time to peruse the other salad options on the menu, and although each one was bringing something notable to the table, the Kale Caesar was still the piece de resistance.

The time came for the woman standing in line in front of me to order, and order she did… the illustrious Kale Caesar Salad, further confirming what I already knew, the Kale Caesar was the way to go.

The man assisting her was upbeat and got to work on adding the necessary ingredients to make that oh so sensual and fulfilling dish. 

I couldn’t wait for my turn to order, the moment would be upon me soon and before I knew it, it arrived.

A woman greeted me. Was she friendly enough? Sure. But she was also rushed, and some might say distracted.  

“What can I get you?”

“I’ll have the Kale Caesar Salad, please.” Just as I had rehearsed.

“Any alterations?”

“No. I would cherish it as is, thank you.” 

And with that, she got to work. She grabbed some luscious kale, sprinkled in plump tomatoes, dusted it with gorgeous flakes of parmesan, topped it with chicken for good measure, and then… and then. I’m sorry, this next part is hard for me to relive.

And then, she began to mix in the dressing. The way I would describe the veracity of her mixing technique, is the same way I would describe my behavior at a semi annual Zara sale: reckless.

Kale was flying out like shrapnel. Tomatoes clung for their lives in the mixing bowl. I’ve had a few days for this to marinate and I’ve concluded that for her, it was never about the salad. 

I try to talk myself down from a ledge, after all it was just a few pieces of kale, no big deal. But as I was about to find out, it was a big deal.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw it: The Kale Caesar Salad belonging to the woman in line in front of me. It was glorious.

The man who had made hers was struggling to place the to-go top on the bowl, so bursting with kale and cheese and tomatoes it was. 

My heart rate started to speed.

I frantically glanced back over at my salad. The woman who helped me was in no way having issues putting the top on mine, as my portion of Kale Caesar Salad was nowhere near the amount of the woman’s in front of me.

“Bread?” she asked. 

My heart began to beat out of my chest.

“Yes, please,” I managed.

She could have fit a whole loaf in there. 

This is where things start to get blurry. The next thing I knew I was paying. And then I was back in my car. 

I got home, and demolished the salad. It was delicious, but was it enough? I’ll go ahead and answer that question now: No. No, it wasn’t. 

I imagined the woman in front of me eating her own Kale Caesar Salad. Perhaps being so full that she saved a few bites for dinner. A luxury I could not afford. 

And that brings us to the present.

I sit here, stunned and full of regret. Wishing I had gotten in line one minute sooner because then I would have been the one with the brimming salad. would have been the one saving a few precious bites for dinner. But instead, my destiny was sealed. My destiny to have a noticeably smaller Kale Caesar Salad portion than the woman in front of me.

On that fateful day, Sweet Greens was, not so sweet to me.



The Higgs Weldon is an online humor magazine with funny articles, cartoons, and one liners. It was founded in the Los Angeles stand-up comedy community, but takes submissions from everybody. Please read and enjoy our jokes!