They serve vegan stew.
All the packaging on everything is 100% biodegradable.
There is a wine bar and it has a sommelier. There is a sushi bar and it's hand rolled.
At least 1/3 of the female shoppers at any given time don't shave their armpits and haven't owned a bra since the Reagan administration. They also smell like patchouli.
Instead of saying, "Have a good day" the clerk says, "Have a blessed day."
You can buy herbal beverages that promote "macrobiotic wellness" but they look and taste like someone went to the countryside in China and emptied a latrine into recyclable glass bottles.
Children named Story Zephyr and Ever Marigold try to squirrel organic fruit chews under their free-trade cotton t-shirts before their mothers notice. They all have beautiful heads of long blonde hair that would make Barry Gibb jealous.
Everything has a dairy-free, soy-free, sugar-free, MSG-free, gluten-free, nut-free alternative.
You can buy the standard ingredients for guacamole and nothing else and your bill will be $28. Plus tax.
There are "locally grown" signs everywhere in the produce department written in really big, condescending print.
If the phrase "plastic bag" is uttered the offending party will be escorted out and the entire store will not be able to resume shopping until someone burns sage and offers a healing affirmation to the Universe.
The guy behind the meat counter hands you a packet of information about the filet mignon he just wrapped for you. It comes complete with the animal's name, birthday, genealogy, photos of its childhood home, and the contact information of its family so you may pay your respects and bring them a jell-o mold as they mourn their loss.