Me and Trader Jones

The kids are back in school… and finally, I enjoyed the first day in three months I’ve been able to go grocery shopping and actually pay attention to what the hell I was throwing in the cart. Trying to go grocery shopping with Lucky and Bubb is a farce. You’d think by ages six and nine I’d at least be able to buy ingredients that, when put together, actually make a meal.

But…they fight, they tattle, they chase… and I eventually get to the point where I simply shop by shape, color, and texture… making sure I at least have one circle, one triangle and one square item, a few different colors, and something squishy and something cold. Yes… based on just those criteria alone, it’s very possible to come home with a cake, a box of crackers, Kleenex, some Skittles, diapers, and a frozen cow tongue. Believe me, I know.

So today I went grocery shopping all by myself… and it was like I was hypersensitive to my surroundings… as if I had been bumbling around all summer encased in a swarm of bees, that all of a sudden disappeared… and now, peace. Wow. Look. Trader Joe’s has flowers? They have bread? They have… food? 

I noticed everything… because the kid blinders were off. I noticed that as soon as I walked into the store, a bus full of seniors from the local retirement home unloaded too. I could hear them all discussing what they plan to buy at “Trader Jones”.

Trader Joe’s is a lot different when the senior bus rolls in. For the first time, I actually had to wait in line to use one of their two bathrooms. Didn’t bother me at all, I just thought it was funny that I had time to sit back and notice it.

I also noticed that by not being the poor mom distracted by wild children, I became the target of seniors who needed help reading ingredients. I spent about fifteen minutes alone helping a lady pick out yogurt. “How much sugar does it say?” “Is it flavored?” “Oh, I don’t like the big container, can you help me find a little one? I can’t eat that much” “What does ‘Greek Yogurt’ mean? Is there one just like this that isn’t Greek? Where’s this other yogurt from if it doesn’t say ‘Greek’? ”

All I knew is that I needed the yogurt that squished out of a tube because my kids are too lazy to use utensils, and I’m pretty sure this lady did not want that.

But have no fear… super senior helper is here. Because apparently, word got out in “Trader Jones” that some sappy woman was willing to help the seniors go a’shopping…

Yes, they were definitely out and about in all their adorable glory, wandering the unconventional diagonal aisles trying to figure out the why the “Trader Jones” store feels crooked and why their packaging is not in proper English.

And then, “Bless you”… that’s all I said. I noticed a sneeze, and responded appropriately. But, that’s all I needed to say to find out that she sneezed because she just walked through the bread section and is allergic to wheat and can’t seem to find wheat free items anywhere… and do I know where there might be some wheat free items in the store… to which I apologized for her malady and the fact that she was attacked by ill tempered, packaged sliced bread, and waved in some general direction that was toward the wine. I think wine is wheat free?

At this point, my eye was on the finish line. I made a bee line to the check out, narrowly escaping another question about how to use the coffee grinder. I stood in line, slumped over the handle bar of the cart, and stared blankly at the tipped over Azalea impulsively tossed in at the last minute… only to have my deep concentration broken by one of the seniors yelling into a cell phone behind me…

“…TRADER JONES! I’M AT TRADER JONES… GETTING COFFEE, PURPLE POTATOES, GREEKS YOGURT .... I SAID GREEKS –…”

And then I hear another voice…

“….isn’t it?”

“Excuse me?” I ask the check-out lady.

“Oh… I was saying that Basmati rice is supposed to be good for you… isn’t it?” she said.

“Oh yeah, I think so. We just like how it tastes.”

Check-out lady has my attention at this point, especially because I am fascinated by her delicate handling of the paper bags… slowly and carefully opening them up with her latex gloved hands, gently flattening out the corners, and then double bagging… doing the same thing to the second bag. It was painstaking to watch this extremely slow, and dare I say… a little creepy, process.

I watch the news worthy Basmati rice get lowered into the paper bag so cautiously, I could have sworn she was handling the very last Eagle egg on the planet. The fascination with my groceries continues…

“Well these are pretty flowers! What kind are they? Oh, I see it says right here: ‘Al-stro-e-meria’. Wow!  Oh, I’ve heard this coffee creamer is really good.  What do you think about these green mangoes? Are they sweet? Ooooh. Chocolate covered bananas. When did we get these?....”

All I can say is, she’s lucky I didn’t have a cart full of fungus treatment and hemmoroid cream.

I noticed that twenty minutes had passed, until the very last of the four measly bags of groceries was ever so perfectly placed in my cart. So, that’s five minutes per bag… not including the Azalea.

So how did I do? I got rice, creamer, mangoes… flowers… an Azalea… umm, well… crap. That certainly does not sound like a square family meal. Let’s just say I was too busy noticing things….