An Open Letter To Publix
Hello Publix,
It’s been a while, I know. Sorry about that, but you’re nowhere to be found in Southeast Asia or Europe, so you’ll have to excuse my absence. To be fair, anywhere outside of the Southeastern US is outside of your territory, really.
You’ve been popping up all over my news feed and I got to thinking about you. Not that you were ever really too far away from my mind, honestly. You have no idea how many times I’ve turned to my wife Betina and said, “Man, I would kill for a Pub sub right now.” Those deli sandwiches are things of legend. Just look up any Florida meme page if you don’t believe me.
And of course that got me thinking of all those beach trips that you were there for. I know you were working so you couldn’t come yourself, but you always made sure we had a cooler full of drinks and a beach bag full of those subs and chips. So many trips back from Pass-a-Grille and Siesta Key, eating the second half of a sub while listening to Betina’s beach mix with way too much Bee Gees on it. I always complained about those trips, but I cherish them to this day.
God, I can’t even remember the first time we met, now that I think about it. So many years since my mom first took me to see you. I’ll be honest, I hated those weekend trips to see you when I was really young. Endless aisles of groceries when there were cartoons that could be watched.
Of course, as I grew a little older, it got better. I found out that I could just scurry over to the bakery and get a free cookie! To a chubby kid like me, that was like gold. I’d munch on my sugar cookie as I sat in the cart and enjoyed my little sugar high that made the time seem to fly by. It’s something I got to relive as a parent with my own daughter, doing her little dance as she gnawed on a Publix cookie of her own.
And of course, who could forget the scale at the front door. Every week I’d jump into the platform and watch the needle swing up, charting my growth by the pounds your food was putting on me. As I got older it became more of a game; see how bad I could feel about all the junk food I just bought. But, that would quickly go away and I always came back for more.
It’s memories like those that always drove me to make sure you were the first stop when I would visit home after being overseas. I’d swing by as soon as I left the airport and pick up some subs and fried chicken and Entenmann’s, which are always on sale somehow, and stuff myself into a state of mild regret. Seeing the bright green glow of the sign out front always made me a little giddy despite knowing the food coma I’d be shortly slipping into.
Heck, I would drive clear across Virginia just to come see you, making that hour and a half trek from Charlottesville to Richmond more times than I’d like to admit. I was nothing, if not loyal. Publix really was where shopping was a pleasure.
That’s what makes this next part hard to say: It’s over. We can’t see each other anymore.
There’s just too much that has gone on that I can’t ignore.
As funny as it sounds, I always knew deep down there was probably something going on with the relationships with the politicians. You’ve got business to do and having a friend or two in high places is always helpful.
But, giving Ron DeSantis money as he spread lies about the election? And for what? So that you would be only one to be able to give out the Covid vaccine? The same vaccine that needed to be made so quickly to fix the absolute mess that DeSantis helped make?
And don’t even get me started about Adam Putnam. You gave that “proud NRA sellout” over $670,000 even after Parkland. Because he’s from Polk County too, you say? I’m sure it had nothing to do with him being the Agriculture Commissioner and a gubernatorial candidate who you could buy off.
Worst of all though, is finding out about Julia Jenkins Fancelli.
“Oh, she’s not with me,” you say. “She does her own thing. I haven’t really seen her that much lately.”
While that may be true to some extent, she’s still part of the family, and from all appearances it seems she’s just following in the family business of paying for her political agenda with my Pub sub money. That money that went on to kill five people on January 6th.
I had to watch helplessly as those bastards tried to destroy an institution that I love. The complete disregard for the history that took place in those chambers that has shaped the history of the world for over two centuries.
Knowing that Julia teamed up with Alex Jones, another in a long line of soulless “conservatives” you seem to enjoy consorting with, to fund that powder keg of a rally makes it even worse. She knew what would happen and you’ve done nothing to say that she was wrong for doing it.
So, I’m done. This is something I cannot abide.
I know that you won’t miss me in the same way that I’ll miss what you used to be for me, but it doesn’t even matter. Knowing that a single cent that I would spend with you could end up going to further destroy the country is too much of a risk to even entertain.
I want to say I wish you all the best, but I really don’t. I feel betrayed and I only hope that you understand one day the true weight of what you’ve done and allowed to be done.
Yours never again,
An Angry Man From Florida
