Wheatsville Co-op Sells Out, Traded Guadalupe Location for Two Whole Fresh Plus Stores

In a shocking turn of events that has sent shockwaves through Austin’s kombucha-sipping, patchouli-wearing elite, Wheatsville Co-op has announced it’s abandoning its sacred Guadalupe Street temple for—wait for it—two whole Fresh Plus locations. That’s right, folks. The co-op that once stood as a beacon of anti-corporate idealism is now engaging in what can only be described as grocery store gentrification.

Let’s be real—this is the equivalent of your favorite indie band selling out to a major label, but instead of a record deal, it’s organic quinoa and bulk-bin nutritional yeast. The Guadalupe location, a hallowed ground where generations of Austinites have debated the ethics of almond milk while standing in line for 45 minutes, is now being traded in like a used Prius.

But fear not, loyal shoppers! The Mangiasaurus—Wheatsville’s beloved, slightly terrifying dinosaur mascot—will live on. Because nothing says “community values” like a fiberglass reptile that once belonged to a pizza joint. Rumor has it the dinosaur is already in talks for its own podcast, where it will discuss the merits of locally sourced arugula and the existential crisis of being a grocery store icon in a city that’s lost its soul.

And let’s talk about this so-called “expansion.” Wheatsville is framing this as some noble mission to “reach new people,” but let’s call it what it is: a desperate attempt to stay relevant in a city where Whole Foods is basically the Walmart of organic kale. The co-op is even offering shares at $100 a pop, because nothing screams “grassroots” like turning your customers into shareholders. Next thing you know, they’ll be accepting Bitcoin at the register and hosting NFT art shows in the bulk foods aisle.

But hey, at least the employees aren’t getting axed—yet. In a move that’s either deeply compassionate or just really good PR, Wheatsville is letting all the Guadalupe staff tag along to the new locations. Because nothing says “worker solidarity” like making your employees commute farther so you can sell more $12 jars of artisanal sauerkraut.

So farewell, Guadalupe Wheatsville. You were the last bastion of old Austin, where people could overpay for groceries while pretending they weren’t part of the problem. And to the new locations: good luck maintaining that “co-op vibe” when your parking lot is full of Teslas and your customers are too busy Instagramming their shopping carts to actually shop. The times, they are a-changin’—whether we like it or not.