The fall of a king: Goodbye Rootes Grocery Store

It is with a heavy heart and a strange cider in hand that I come to terms with the passing of Rootes Grocery Store – the uncontested ruler of Warwick campus cuisine. Though often slandered for its £2.50 potato dogs and expensive, eccentric noodle aisle, Rootes was more than just some shop. It was a landmark. A monarch. A chaotic constant in an otherwise beige corner of campus.

Born in 2015, rising from the ashes of Costcutter like a phoenix with a green glow, Rootes reigned with a benign madness. You never quite knew what would catch your eye inside – a funky drink, dubious snack, or a ‘hot’ food item that only Klarna could afford. But that trademark unpredictability and general unreliability were the point.

The stock wasn’t something that always made sense. You could buy everything, yet somehow nothing. You would go in needing one thing and leave with five things you didn’t know existed – and maybe they weren’t useful or tasteful – but they were alluring somehow

For some, it was extortion. For me, it was enchantment at first sight. I first met Rootes on an open day, dazed from too many campus tours and feeling insecure about my outfit – I was desperate for sustenance. I went in for water, but was left with something entirely unnecessary and utterly life-affirming. I had a strange, unwavering feeling that this was culture at its finest.

Rootes didn’t serve only food. It served mystery and intrigue wrapped in grease. And now, it’s gone, just like that. Less a place of purchase, more a glowing, liminal space perfumed with starch. It didn’t welcome you so much as confront you, offering choices that bordered on psychological tests.

The stock wasn’t something that always made sense. You could buy everything, yet somehow nothing. You would go in needing one thing and leave with five things you didn’t know existed – and maybe they weren’t useful or tasteful – but they were alluring somehow. Rootes didn’t care what you wanted. It offered you what it had, and you adjusted your life accordingly.

Replacing Rootes with a Co-op might be a sensible move. A grown-up, mature, financially strategic step towards normality. Sure, it makes sense. Convenience is great. Coherence is nice. However, Rootes was a different breed of elegant chaos

Prices were less student-friendly and more character-building. If you were short on cash, Rootes didn’t help – it simply stared into your soul and asked, “How badly do you want it?” But the drama of the transaction was all part of the ritual. Rootes didn’t need to be cheap. It had personality, and decided that was good enough.

It was never sleek or streamlined. Never particularly logical. But it had charisma – erratic, baffling, slightly threatening charisma. Rootes didn’t belong to us – we belonged to it, willingly and without question, like loyal subjects.

Replacing Rootes with a Co-op might be a sensible move. A grown-up, mature, financially strategic step towards normality. Sure, it makes sense. Convenience is great. Coherence is nice. However, Rootes was a different breed of elegant chaos, not typical university dramatics, but something stranger and far more endearing.

No new pricing will help me get over this gut-wrenching loss. Because Rootes wasn’t just a grocery store, it was a rite of passage

So yes, I’ll shop in the new Co-op. I’ll probably enjoy it. I might even benefit from a deal or two. But I won’t love it. Not like I loved Rootes – irrationally, nostalgically, and fiercely.

No new pricing will help me get over this gut-wrenching loss. Because Rootes wasn’t just a grocery store, it was a rite of passage, a companion from your first steps on campus to your last. A weird friend. A memory. And now, a legend.

Rootes, you robbed me blind, but I’d happily pay again.