Pork Chop Hunting at Trader Joe's

True story of angst-ridden chop hunt at Trader Joe's

Rated PG for occasional vague references to extential malaise, some material may be unsuitable for the literal minded

"Back off or I'll hit you!"
--Josef K. in "The Trial"

You know what, Diary? Don't go to Trader Joe's when you're sick. Especially if it's your first time in the store and you're only after that ready-to-eat pork chop that they've been advertising for $2.79.



First of all, the store will probably be packed with health nuts who think they've died and gone to heaven, a belief which materially impedes their progress through the building, thereby obliging a practical fella like yourself to pirouette and zigzag from aisle to aisle (while disingenuously mumbling the words, "Excuse me" and "Pardon me"); Second of all, you'll have trouble finding the pork chop in question because temporarily abandoned shopping carts will litter the meat aisle where the entree awaits (probably because the cart pushers are off getting free trail mix samples in the appropriately named "nut" section); Third of all, you won't find the plethora of other ready-to-eat meat entrees that you were probably expecting based on the existence of the aforementioned chop.

Mind you, this is just my personal opinion based on visiting Trader Joe's at an hour when, admittedly, I should have been at home in bed, nursing a cold.


Normally, I have nothing against crowded stores full of slow-moving health nuts who occasionally block your path with their abandoned shopping carts (which, however, it's so crowded that you can't be certain it's abandoned, so you hesitate pushing it out of the way -- even when there's briefly enough room to do so! Meanwhile, that vacuum-wrapped pork chop is staring you in the face defiantly, as it were, from the bottom of the freezer, saying, "Nyah nyah nyah nyah, you can't get me!")

But you should have seen me last night -- or rather you should have heard my thoughts! Outwardly, I was like, "Pardon me, excuse me," as I was jostled about by the flannel-beshirted elbows of the nut-crunching dreamers -- whereas silently I was mouthing the words of a claustrophobic Josef K. in Kafka's "Trial": "Back off or I'll hit you!" (Well, doggone it, I had a real bad cold!