Trading Joe's

Ah, the vast array of cheeses, affordable wines, organic veggies, whole grain breads and fresh-cut-from-the-greenhouse flowers abound at Trader Joe’s. What a foodie’s paradise! A coffee cornucopia. Samples to treat oneself with around every corner. It can be bliss, but for me, well, it’s not. Every single time I’ve ventured into Trader Joe’s the family has been in tow. There is just too much of “Mommy, look at this!” and “Where did your Daddy go?” (Usually we find him standing mesmerized in front of the cheese display, torn between the Stilton or the Brie.) I can't seem to completely enjoy the experience, and then, there’s the crowds.

Our little corner of the world used to be considered a large town, or a very small city. Raleigh, North Carolina has boomed since I was a child into a population of over one million. Given that, in the entire county, there are only two Trader Joe’s with a square footage up to 15,000 square feet. That might sound large, but most grocery store chains are more than double that size and, have several more stores in the area. Are you following me? Now, I honestly had not given the facts much thought. I simply assumed that the fault of my not enjoying the “experience” of shopping at Trader Joe’s was due to being pulled into twenty different directions at one time. Hence, the family had to go.

I ventured out, one sunny afternoon just after lunch, blissfully alone, to explore Trader Joe’s. The first hurdle was the parking lot. It was a sea of SUV’s and expensive sedans. I’m not talking your mid-size SUV’s, but the big, honking, freighters where you look through Minnesota to Kentucky just to back your vehicle up. My minivan seemed out of place and forlorn. Trying to cross the parking lot turned into a game of Frogger. I swear, I lost my shoe trying to get out of the way of a big mamajamma that was parking. Then, upon finding my shoe, I leaned against a Mercedes to pull the shoe over the heel of my foot, setting off the car alarm. I admit it; I ran the rest of the way into the store, into what I hoped was sanctuary.

The entrance was filled with flowers and about 400 people. I kid you not. I could barely get a view of the fragrant stems. Squeezing past with my cart, I thought I’d come back later to see what they had. Oh the folly! I could barely make it past the fresh vegetables. A mother with an infant on her hip and a toddler in her cart was trying to reach for the organic, range free, just from the dirt, potatoes. The dad, staring at the gluten free bread, was unaware of the real struggle the mom was going through as the cart started tipping. The mom was yelling, trying to get to the cart as the toddler was reaching for “Carrots!” With speed only a mom can muster, she grabbed cart, scooped the potatoes, snagged the carrots and the baby in the appropriate upright position. Dad remained completely unaware. I would have helped, but I was trapped between two young men contemplating cantaloupes. Meanwhile, on aisle three, a toddler was ramming their mini-cart into the cracker display with gusto. I didn’t know which way to turn.

Perhaps they are having a big sale, I thought. Nope, it was business as usual. I managed to get near the cheese and grab our favorite Stilton, and I wrangled the chocolate chip dunking sticks that are as addictive as crack in our home. I couldn’t make it all the way down the frozen food aisle. I got as far as the fresh frozen, made from scratch pizzas before being pushed aside by a Trader Joe’s shopping pro, steely eyed, with unmatchable cart driving skills. At that point I pretty much let the traffic guide me, winding up back at the entrance and the horde of flower enthusiasts. I still couldn’t see a damn petal. Somehow, I made it to the check out where I received a dissertation from the cashier on the best way to prepare a natural, protein filled, vegetarian dinner. I was flipping exhausted and still had to traverse the parking to get back to the car. It took me twenty minutes, TO GET TO THE CAR.

After a total of twenty-two minutes from leaving the door of the store, I was on my way home, and I had made a decision. I have to trade you, Trader Joe’s. Much as I love the products, the chaos scarred me. I’m not sure if I belong in your fairly priced exceptional cheese aisle anymore. My foot is still sore from the hot pavement, and I can never look a Mercedes in the eye again.