Westwood Liminal Hellscapes Part 2: World’s Biggest Ralphs

It’s that time of the month. 

No, not my period. Grocery shopping.

I’ve put it off for as long as I could, but I’m down to the bare bones now. The only things in my cupboard are the canned beans and dried pasta my mom sent me back to school with. 

We know I don’t want to go to the UCLA Target. I’m definitely not in the mood for the overwhelming positivity of the Trader Joe’s employees. And Whole Foods is too expensive. My only other option is Ralphs. 

This is how I feel about going to Ralphs:

It is my pleasure (not really) to introduce you to the second liminal hellscape in our lovely town of Westwood: the world’s biggest Ralphs.  

First, I’m so sorry if you’ve been to the Westwood Ralphs, f.

Second, you probably understand why I like to call it the world’s biggest Ralphs. It’s huge. Descriptions like uncomfortably imposing and eerily intimidating come to mind as I try to describe it. What’s wild is that the Westwood Ralphs actually is the largest in SoCal. It’s 93,400 square feet. And the Internet can’t show me a larger one anywhere else, so I’m pretty sure it really is the World’s Biggest. 

That’s how it gets you. It lures you in with its size and validated parking. I feel it is my duty to warn you all — like a martyr for a greater grocery shopping cause — about the danger of the Westwood Ralphs to your sanity. 

If anything, know this. The vast, dim-lit, enormity of the Westwood Ralphs requires a sense of urgency and determinedness to survive it. Think, the first 45 seconds after they step off the pedestals in the Hunger Games. It’s defeat, or be defeated. 

It looks something like this: 

Your first few minutes in the World’s Biggest Ralphs will be your best. At this point, you’re still hopeful. You’re focused, stream-lined, even. But soon, underneath will become pure panic. You’ll become increasingly disoriented under the fluorescent lights. It’s like a maze in there. You have to move quickly down the aisles to make up for the time you spend zig-zagging back and forth because the aisle categories don’t make any sense. 

But you have to keep going. It’ll swallow you up if you show any signs of weakness. If you can’t find something, cut your losses. You cannot, I repeat, you cannot, afford to ask for help. The one time I did that, I was stuck for 30 minutes learning how to use the Ralphs app. It’s a black hole, trust me. 

My mom always says that after you give birth your body makes you forget how painful it was so you do it again. I think the Westwood Ralphs somehow does that to you when you leave. Because after those first 15 minutes, things start to go downhill bad. 

I feel this is an accurate representation of what I mean:

You might be thinking, “If things really get this bad, Guinivere, I’ll just go with friends. Strength in numbers, right?”

Wrong. 

God forbid, you go into that store with friends. You will lose track of them if you separate. And you can’t call or text them. The Westwood Ralphs doesn’t have service between the liquor aisles and chip aisles, because, why would they? If you happen to lose your friends somewhere in there, your best bet is to wander the aisles yelling out their name.

And if you can’t find them (which is far more likely), imagine the cannons going off at the end of each day in the Panem arena. A noble “gone, but not forgotten” type of situation. 

I swear I’m not a total hater. I’m not out for the Westwood Ralphs — it’s out for me. Between the obstacle course layout (they have towers of canned alcohol for you to precariously weave your cart through) and the lighting it feels like some dystopian social experiment. Like some vindictive scientist is asking, “How long can a human being really last in a place like this?”

It’s very Twilight Zone-esque. 

But I will not be seen leaving defeated. The Westwood Ralphs may take my confidence, my hope, my first child, but they will not have my dignity too. I walk out of that store with my head held high (and at least two items I grabbed in a fear-induced haze).

I aim for this:

Heed my warning: Avoid the Westwood Ralphs at all costs. It’s not worth it. (Unless you really need that one thing that only they have like me.) And if you do go, well … 

Good luck, I guess.

• college
• college life
• food
• life experiences
• local
• review
• shopping
• UCLA