Hell hath no fury like an upscale urbanite who’s been promised a Whole Foods only to see it yanked away.

“Whole Foods! We want the REAL thing,” reads a Care2 petition recently posted by neighborhood resident and music executive Dawn White. “People in this neighborhood are desperate for a local high end market with the best quality foods, which are often not the 365 brand,” White wrote.

Let’s take a quick trip to Los Angeles’ bourgeois-hip Silver Lake neighborhood, where more than a few residents are up in arms over Whole Foods’ recent decision to not go through with a planned full-service Whole Foods but rather to build the first store in the chain’s new line of budget outlets aimed at millennials, 365 by Whole Foods Market.

The outcry offers lessons in everything from how not to manage public relations (Whole Foods, I’m looking at you) to the promise and perils of marketing to millennials to, finally, what happens when people come to define themselves according to where they shop only to discover that corporate behemoths don’t necessarily reciprocate their love.

That’s got to hurt. But this is much more than a silly neighborhood dispute over what seems like the ultimate first-world problem.

Whole Foods announced 365 this past summer, hoping the new stores would help stem its beleaguered sales. The company has described its lower-end product line as offering “quality standards.”

Do foodstuffs like 365 Everyday Value Organic Frosted Flakes Cereal fits that description?

Whatever the answer is, it seems unlikely that many of the 170 people who have signed White’s petition believe it’s yes.

“I’ve been waiting 20 years for a decent grocery store to come to the silver lake neighborhood,” wrote one signatory. Another, more plaintively: “Please bring a normal whole foods, or at least add the counter with food prepared by the chefs and handlers because that is the real reason I attend whole foods.”

But what should Whole Foods have expected? Many in Silver Lake, once a rapidly gentrifying and now increasingly wealthy neighborhood frequently compared to Brooklyn’s Williamsburg (which is scheduled to get its own Whole Foods next year), have long complained about their shopping options. Even as hip, nationally famed restaurants have proliferated — and even as people line up for $5 cups of espresso at the area’s Intelligentsia outpost — residents say the area supermarkets, with the exception of a Trader Joe’s, continue to feel like stepping into a 1990s time warp. A worker restocks cream cheese at a Whole Foods in Woodmere Village, Ohio. Associated Press

As a result, when comedian Brendon Walsh placed a “Coming Soon! Whole Foods” sign in 2011 at the site of a closed Circuit City in the neighborhood, Silver Lake Twitter erupted in celebration before people realized it was a prank.

Then it was real. Whole Foods announced in 2013 it was taking over a more-than-50,000-square-foot Ralph’s supermarket. While a few bemoaned the loss of a general supermarket that served all those who lived in the neighborhood, including long-established immigrant communities, others were thrilled. Some realtors began to include phrases like “located near the upcoming Whole Foods” in their listings. L.A. Weekly predicted the site’s “parking lot isn’t anywhere near big enough” for the expected hordes. Store officials even presented a plan to offer a wine bar and café at the location.

And then … 365 by Whole Foods Market. This time a comedian hadn’t punked Whole Foods’ fan base. It was the company itself, which the more vociferous residents seemed to believe had pulled a bait and switch.