Everything Left But Control.

Feel like a trip to the Hollywood Trader Joe's?

God no! is what any normal person should say. I really shouldn't, but I'm a sucker for their no fuss frozen insta-meals. Because I have no problem saying that after a grueling day of sitting at a desk and having lunch sometimes I'm just not in the mood to whip up a three course vegan voyage. The frozen insta-meals from TJ's step to the plate when my culinary ambitions flag.

I always tell myself I'm not going to do it to myself again. I'm not going to subject myself to the abuse of the pouty mouthed heard at the Hollywood Trader Joe's. There's a Ralphs, a Whole Foods, a City Target my God, so why do I keep doing it?

There was the woman who spent three minutes deciding which salad greens she wanted to buy before settling on Spring Mix. The trustafarian with headphones jamming out to God knows what with the produce. There are the women with the boots, oh God there are so many women still wearing ridiculous equestrian style riding boots in the middle of an urban center. There was a disturbed dude harassing an employee; telling the employee, in a really loud voice, how Trader Joe's gave him food poisoning twice. Yes. Twice. I thought if someone is stupid enough to get food poisoning twice at the same place, then they probably shouldn't be saying it out loud. The mentally ill make such bad decisions.

But the guy in front of me in the checkout queue really took the cake as they say. Homie was wheeling a mother-fucking crate, yes crate of records lashed to a trolley with two enormous bags hanging off both handles. It was a spectacle. I knew I had made a mistake, but I couldn't do anything without it seeming like I'm basically telling the guy, Dude, that's fucked up. And being in a rush is tacky, so I just chilled, but my word it was hard. Especially when the hot cashier (I always pick the hot ones regardless of the line) managed to ring up my purchases, bag them, and give me my change all before the Amoeba power shopping touched one could figure out how to work his just too precious artisan wallet.

As I watched the dear thing troddle out, past the menswear blog reading dude wearing a tweed blazer and tie in 75 degree weather, with his decrepit trolley filled with what I can only suspect is a shit load of Free Jazz, I really honestly thought I might be leaving this Trader Joe's for the very last time.

Curtains.