The Trader Joe's Experiment

I want to start right off by saying that I love Trader Joe's grocery stores, really, I do. Trader Joe's is known for offering not just novelty products from all around the world, but also for healthy products that are priced lower than their (Whole Foods) competitors. That alone is enough to make it near and dear to my heart, but let's go ahead and add in the fact that I discovered last week that they donate their leftover flowers to nursing homes and hospitals. In fact, the quirky chain has lots of things that make it awesome, and a quick internet search gave me this list which I wholeheartedly believe will make you love it even more.

All of that being said, I have only made one purchase *ever* from Trader Joe's. The fact of the matter is that each and every time I attempt to shop there, the experience is so intense and off putting that I abort my mission and retreat. I'm starting to think that Trader Joe's is more than just a store: it's some sort of psychological experiment. It's like an attempt to discover: how far will human beings go in their efforts to score trendy food?

Last week, I mustered up all my courage and feistiness, which we know is in abundant supply, and decided that this time I was going to conquer the summit called Trader Joe's, no turning back. I pulled into the tiny parking lot, which is notoriously a zoo. Not only are there four cars for every one parking space, this lot is always littered with pedestrians who seem oblivious to both the cars and the world around them. On this particular occasion, a man stood in front of my car talking on his cell phone, seeming not to notice the fact that I was trying to park, nor feeling the veritable heat from my engine breathing down his neck (I try not to honk at people with my Clemson sticker on my car, as I feel like it might be bad advertising for my beloved alma mater). He finally wrapped up his conversation and walked away, and as I sighed relief and started to pull into the spot, a woman walking a huge golden retriever waltzed right through the parking space (and narrowly avoided becoming a hood ornament for my SUV). I hadn't even made it to the door yet and already, my nerves were jangled.

The biggest Trader Joe's obstacle for me is the fact that the store is always as crowded as a Walmart on Black Friday dawn. I've tried going at every possible day and time, in an effort to find a less frenzied time to shop. I would pay extra for some VIP TJ's access if I could manage to avoid the multitudes, but there is never less than the maximum occupancy as determined by the fire marshall inside that store.

Inside Trader Joe's, the basic laws of navigation seem not to apply: staying on the right side of the aisle has gone by the wayside and I fight like a salmon swimming upstream as I try to push my cart through the horde. I dodge oncoming traffic, rogue carts, hyperactive children. The whole scene is like something out of an apocalypse movie. I swear the swarm of shoppers queues up my fight or flight response, and rather than go all Incredible Hulk right there by the freshly baked bread, I flee. On more than one occasion, I have put down my shopping basket and backed slowly away towards the door, giving up without a single purchase made.

Oh, but not last week. I stared down those throngs of shoppers and I soldiered on. I had come in pursuit of frozen zucchini noodles, also known as zoodles, that I was told Trader Joe's sells. Buying them frozen will save me the time and trouble of getting out my spiralizer machine, decimating my own fresh zucchini, attempting to dry said zucchini, and then spending the rest of the evening cleaning the spiralizer as a reward for an attempt at healthy eating. I will do anything to avoid kitchen clean up, so I stare down the barrel of this grocery store mayhem (somewhat) unfazed.

The same way that traffic flow is a demonstration in chaos, so is what is considered acceptable shopper behavior; I dodged elbows, arms in my face, and heads as I wearily tried to peruse the aisles. It's a good thing I like kickbox workouts and know defensive moves or I might have been knocked unconscious trying to look at trail mix. I played a mean game of chicken with a skinny 20-something in the freezer section and finally maneuvered my way to those zoodles that were my reason for fighting the good fight. There were four boxes left and I am not ashamed to tell you I greedily took all four. My adrenaline started to surge from my vegetable victory; I threw in some carrots and mahi mahi burgers as well. I also grabbed a box of gummy candy, as a reward for my stunning show of bravery. I was starting to fade fast.

With my energy draining and my patience dipping to dangerously low reserves, I made my way to the checkout lines. The man in front of me checked out, and just as I thought I was putting the grand finish on my shopping experience, the same man takes a step backward. He inquired of the cashier what type of oils Trader Joe's sells (olive and canola, if anyone else is interested), then decided he would, in fact, like to purchase a bottle of canola oil...oh, and could the cashier go retrieve said oil for him while he waited? I took deep, cleansing breaths and tried to remain calm as I waited for him to purchase his canola and be on his merry way.

I bought my whopping seven--that's right, that's all I could manage, a lucky number seven--and retreated to my car. I came, I saw, I conquered! Granted, I didn't buy much, but baby steps still count as moving forward. In fact, writing this post has been a bit like reliving my victory all over again. I think I'll make a batch of zoodles tonight to celebrate.