Monday, Dreaded Monday
Trader Joe’s on a Monday evening. Enough said. I don’t particularly grocery shop on this day, but my schedule has forced me to begin the dreaded start of the week with this staple adult pastime.
Fortunately, I am able to share this errand run with my twin sister. We take the express 3 train to the Trader Joe’s on 72nd street. Our eagerness to shop was quickly matched when we were met with a line of people outside the entrance. Confused, I asked:
“What is going on?”
To which a lady responded:
“They said there is an overcapacity in the store, so they are letting a few people in after some people leave.”
My sister and I both sighed in defeat, but, we waited.
The lady spoke up again.
“I mean I get it. I get it. People be shopping.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at her comment.
We only waited for another minute or so before the so called Trader Joe’s bouncer allowed us to come in. They were not wrong about overcapacity. The line for check out had wrapped around the fruit aisle and I notice a woman at the end raising a sign acknowledging well, the end of the line. I grab us a cart, but then realize we’d be better off with two baskets, taking notice of the crowded space. As we try to squeeze our way through what little walkway was left for us shoppers, we pass by two Trader Joe’s employees. They are a man and a woman. I could only catch the tail end of their conversation.
“I’m just going to tell them all the products are gone,” said the man.
What you see here is all an illusion it’s not real,” he adds, smiling.
Imagine the look of surprise on a customer’s face when they hear all the food in the store is just a hologram. Purely for marketing purposes. It’s comical.
My sister and I head to the lower level which is significantly less populated than the upper. I won’t bore you with the details of my shopping list except that it included dumplings and a cookie cake. The essentials. As we trudge back upstairs, we find the line has lessened a bit. The lady at the end of the line with the sign is really trying to stay positive about how crowded it is around her. Every few minutes we slowly move forward, and since we have baskets instead of carts, we push them with our feet ever so slightly on the ground. It feels as if we have a ball and chain attached to our feet in some big assembly line. On top of that, instead of the musical indulgences of Train and Sarah Barailles, I am plagued to hear questionable elevator/club music. It is strange for a Trader Joe’s. But after we get through our electro-beat jail conga line, we finally check out with the nicest lady. I ask her if it’s rough on these days but she simply replies:
“No. It’s usually like this on Mondays.”
It’s safe to say maybe I choose a different day next time.