The Battle of Trader’s Joes

I was standing in line outside of Trader Joe’s yesterday morning, waiting to enter. This is not grocery store that I frequent, nor do I even approve of the existence of this particular establishment. It’s a bizarre and foreign land filled with some of the grocery items that I might need but not all of the grocery items that I absolutely need, making it the kind of place that requires at least one other stop at another grocery store, which is, of course, ridiculous.

Time is far too valuable for this kind of nonsense.

But Elysha likes certain items from this store, so I was making an exception given my love for her and the pandemic.

The line was quite long as we waited for the doors to open and the elderly and immunocompromised shoppers to enter first. I was standing behind a woman who was clearly agitated. She was complaining about the length of the line to no one in particular and muttering words like, “Ridiculous” and “Nonsense.”

I ignored her. Seth Meyer’s latest edition of “A Closer Look” was entertaining me on my phone.

Then something happened. The woman snapped. She turned, faced me and the multitude behind me, and said, “Can you believe that in this country – this country! – we are forced to wear a mask! What ever happened to freedom?”

I was going to say something, but I try not to engage crazy people anymore. One never knows the degree of crazy that you might be facing. Elysha has asked me to try to avoid these situations, and I often do.

But the lady continued, shouting and ranting to the dozens of people standing behind her.  The primary thrust of her argument was “This country!” She repeated this incomplete sentence over and over again as if it carried rhetorical weight.

She offered no scientific rationale. No discussion of civil liberties. No refutation of the tragedy of the commons. No rejection of Spock’s “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

Just “This country.” Over and over again.

I tried to say nothing. I really did. But then I did.

All I said was this:

“My father was drafted at the age of 18 and forced to fight in Vietnam. He was exposed to Agent Orange and suffered a lifetime of health problems because of it. So on behalf of my father, a veteran, I would like to thank you for this enormous sacrifice of a face mask. You are a hero.”

She did not appreciate my statement, possibly because she detected my sarcasm. And unlike Trump, who cries sarcasm whenever he says something stupid, dangerous, and incoherent, this was genuine sarcasm. No denying that. First she glared. Then she huffed. Then, when the Trader Joe’s employee who was helping to keep order outside the store approached, she called the employee over and accused me of verbal abuse. Demanded that I be removed from the line.

The man behind me, finding this whole incident amusing, rushed to my defense. “He didn’t verbally abuse you. He called you a hero!”

Then he began giggling.

This made the woman even angrier. She repeated her claims of verbal abuse and again demanded my removal from the line.

It’s hard to read a person’s reaction from beneath a mask, but this Trader Joe’s employee had heard the woman’s ranting earlier, and based upon her eyes alone, I suspected that she knew what we all knew:

This is a crazy person.

The employee explained that there was nothing she could do and started to move away to assist other customers when Crazy Lady demanded once again that either I be removed from the line or she be moved to the front of the line, far away from me.

Now I felt bad. I had created a problem. The man behind me was still laughing, and I suspect that many around us were smiling (though I couldn’t tell because of their masks), but now I had forced this Trader Joe’s employee, who had enough on her hands already, to somehow rectify this situation.

She paused as if to consider her options. Instead, I said, “I’ll just go. I’m running late anyway.”

For the record, this was true. I had already shopped at Stop & Shop, a grocery store that actually contains everything I might need, so the backseat of my car was filled with food that would need to be wiped down or stored in the garage. I also had an interview with a newspaper reporter in 15 minutes, and my first meeting with a student was in less than an hour.

I was already cutting it close.

But that’s not why I left. It was a good reason to leave, but I decided to exit the line and head home because the last thing an essential worker needs in the midst of a pandemic is someone as nonessential as Crazy Lady or myself making her job any more difficult.

As I stepped out of line, the man behind me offered me a hearty “Have a great day!”

This man and I could be friends.

I was happy to solve the situation for this employee, who was doing an excellent job, but I’ll tell you:

It also killed me to walk away. I know that Crazy Lady saw my departure as a victory, and that hurt.

I hate to lose, almost as much as I hate remaining silent when I find myself in situations like this.

I’ll be giving Trader Joe’s another try later today. I’m hoping for a much quieter, more peaceful visit.