I am pumping some oddly titled drip brew, Ethiopian Haraar from one of the vacuum containers at the at the Whole Foods supermarket in LA. The market sits in Brentwood, fondly known as OJ's old killing Field. The average household income here soars beyond the aspirations of most Americans, not to mention your average Palestinian or Haitian.

Whole Foods stresses their attachment to a purer, fresher, more wholesome way of life, which lets them get away with wider margins than the Mississippi. A seasonal shopper heirloom tomato can easily weigh out at $5.00 American (others, please use your currency converters and defibrillators).

Anyway, fortified with a half cup of this O-Too-Long in the Thermos BadBrew, I'm ready to set my cart on a munchy, crunchy, planet friendly roll. But in the distance, standing proudly by the Key Limes, is a member of the Whole Foods Rent-a-Cop security detail. Grey uniform, pants tucked into boots -- Special Ops style -- and strapped with a 9mm Glock. Whoa! The Von's supermarket in Compton sits in a true war zone, and even they don't employ private security. Isn't that for Iraq?

And this is Brentwood. Brentwood where boy-hipped trophy moms in JP Todds pick up Fiddlehead Ferns after a waxing. Brentwood, where the greatest nightmare is a parking lot ding in your Lincoln Navigator.

If you're a Whole Foods Rent-a-Cop and you squeeze off a full mag of NATO rounds at a fleeing Vegan shoplifter, no one will fault you. Can't bring those Seditious Birkenstock-trod, tree-hugging insurgents to Justice? Then mail 12 rounds of steel-jacketed Justice to them at 335 feet per second.

But other variables arise: at any given hour of the day or night, a typical Whole Foods market is packed with school children, pregnant mothers, bike messengers, singles, the elderly and other non-combatants. Discharging a firearm in such a space represents a greater danger to simple peach-pinchers than to the suicide bomber lurking in the loose grains isle. Also, a bullet travels further than its intended target, say, glancing off a tibia, exiting at a unintended angle, and entering a Californian by the tomatillo display. (Those of you outside of Schwarzenegger's Kingdom may be thinking so?)

Furthermore, armed Rent-a Cops attain their hallowed position because they often canít qualify for the L.A.P.D and so donít receive A-level training or have the necessary street chops to deal with everyday street horror.

All of which leads to an ugly what if. And even thinking of this made the bitter brew taste even worse. What if, for some unimaginable reason, Rent-a-Cop draws down? Let's examine one scenario:

Rent-a-Cop spots alleged shoplifter grabbing a handful of fingerling potatoes and pocketing them. (Approximate street value, $3.25). Since her designer cloth shopping bag perfectly matches her nubby plaid Chanel jacket, the bag's camouflaged. Rent-a-Cop screams ěfreezeî. Woman reacts by reaching into her purse (containing the City Council ID that should vindicate her). Mistaking this movement as a gun pull, Rent-a-Cop draws Glock 9, and fueled by a mighty surge of adrenalin, lack of training and simmering issues with women, squeezes off two rounds at 25 yards.

In the real world, pistols are not that accurate, especially when the user is entering a fugue state.

Round 1 tracks two feet left of the target, passing through a shoulder of a CPA and imbedding itself in the tank of the Organic Peanut Butter dispenser. Round #2 finds its mark, throwing African-American Congresswoman, Renata Merrill of Brentwood against a display of specialty coffees. Both the CPA and Ms. Merrill will survive.

Congresswoman Merrill, lying amidst exploded bags of shade-grown fair-trade varietals conjures sweet visions of racial profiling and Johnny Cochran; the CPA, languishing in a pool of his own blood, has already calculated a settlement.

Call me crazy, but I found it hard to understand why the management of a place called Whole Foods felt armed security was a good idea. So, I Googled the company Headquarters: Austin Texas, which lives in a state where most everybodyís free to carry. All makes sense now. How do you expect folks from there, to understand the peaceful California ways of Brentwood - OJ excepted.  All is forgiven.

Mark Friedman, a regular in coffeecrew world,  lives and works in Venice Beach, Los Angeles as a freelance writer.