Sometimes I get angry

I’ve been told when you become frustrated with a person, situation, or experience, it is best to breathe deep, count to ten, or ‘take a chill pill.’ It has been half an hour of pondering, breathing deep, counting to a thousand, and metaphorically shoving a whole container of chill pills down my throat.

And I am still angry.

As I write this post, I sit in Metro Perc, a local coffee shop. There are many great ‘percs’ about this newfound study spot. It is a pleasant atmosphere featuring short round tables, tall round tables, tall square tables, and even two large, plush, comfortable chairs situated in front of a fireplace (these chairs are also round if you were wanting to know). The high ceilings accent the large windows and the color combination is soul-soothing. They carry Stumptown Coffee – one of Portland’s finest coffee bean roasters – and pastries from another Portland favorite, Nuvrei. Breakfast and lunch are served daily and they have a variety of options to choose from.

What makes this place great, however, is one key aspect. This is what sets this place head-and-shoulders above most every coffee shop I’ve ever been to: they serve Voodoo Doughnuts.

If you have never visited Portland, chances are that you do not have a clue what these delicious delicacies are. But if you are keen to Portland, you have fallen in love with Voodoo time and time again. Voodoo has the most unusual selection of doughnuts I have come across and they make original (and weird) combinations and place them on top.

For example, the Grape Ape. The Grape Ape is a regular raised doughnut with vanilla frosting and grape powder. I bet you’ve never tried that before. Or how about the Dirty Snowball, a chocolate cake doughnut that features pink marshmallow glaze and a ‘surprise’ filling. They even have a doughnut called the ‘No Name.’ It has chocolate rice crispys and peanut butter smeared all over it. So original. Sooo good.

Amidst this large cast of doughnut characters, one has captured my heart…and my taste buds. This drool-initiator and stomach-pleaser is simple. It is a plain raised doughnut with vanilla glaze evenly covering the circumference of the rim. If that’s not enough, they place crushed Oreo pieces on top with careful consideration and spacing. This doughnut is aptly named ‘Dirt.’

Dirt stole my heart a few nights ago and is not letting go easily. Now understand, I have had some dang good doughnuts in my life. There was a stint in ’98 where I only ate Boston Creme Pies during the time my family went on vacation to the New England area, also known as “Dunkin’ Donut Land.” Dunkin’ Donuts is, in my opinion, the best coffee/donut shop in the United States. They have far better coffee than the domination-driven Starbucks and have an enormous selection of doughnuts, depending on the particular shop you visit. I must have eaten, on average, two Boston Creams a day and did not get tired of them in the least. Winchells and Ellers, both Santa Barbara bakeries, had amazing donuts that filled the hungry stomachs of Westmont students and Montecito Covenant Church youth groupers week after week that I also gladly partook in. I’ve even had the infamous Donut Man* doughnuts popular in the San Dimas area. But none of these compare to Voodoo’s Dirt.

So here I am, a few days after enjoying the best doughnut I have ever tasted sitting in the same chair by the fireplace reminiscing about Dirt. When I entered the Metro Perc just moments ago, I passed by the doughnut display case and noticed Dirt was sitting there, waiting for me to delight myself in it. I took my seat across from my girlfriend who was studying and I turned my computer on to join her. Informing her of my plan, I told her that I would sign onto my computer and let it get started. During this time, I would saunter up to the counter and purchase Dirt – a perfect way to begin my study time.

And then this girl walked in. This little girl about the age of twelve that should have been in school with her two friends that were accompanying her. As a future teacher, this upset me as she clearly should be at school in the early afternoon. I don’t care that its Friday nor that it is a beautifully sunny day outside. She should be in school. And then she did the unthinkable: she asked for a doughnut.

My ears perked and my eyes quickly shot over to her as she asked for the Oreo-covered doughnut. I was in disbelief and thought I was dreaming. My jaw fell and I looked to my girlfriend to see if this was really happening. She affirmed me with her concerned eyes and I drew my attention back to the girl. Indeed, she had bought the doughnut. My aspirations for this afternoon were quickly vanishing. The worst part is that she was paying with a credit card. No twelve-year-old girl pays with a credit card, especially when she’s skipping school. Clearly, she had fiendishly stolen her mother’s credit card and was carelessly using it in her afternoon of joyously skipping class. All the while, she was haphazardly crushing my destined meeting with Dirt. Not only did she steal Dirt from me, but she also bought a large, coffee-infused drink that she didn’t finish and probably just bought because it was ‘free.’ Thanks mom.

So my afternoon has quickly turned sour. There is no Dirt in my stomach. There is no homework to be shown. All that has come of this afternoon are dreams gone down the hole and this angry blog post. At least I have the Blazers to look forward to tonight.

 

 

*Thank you, Jacob.

True or False

True or False: Customers at Trader Joe’s are always right.

Circle your answer and pass your papers to the front, please.

Now let’s discuss why you, and the retail philosophy of the ‘customer alway being right!’ is, in fact, wrong. And stupid.

Here is a story with my thoughts italicized. Although I eagerly desired to voice my mind to this particular customer, I left my thoughts in itaclics and, in doing so, probably kept my job. I will use the name “Cynthia” to refer to the customer.

 

(Cynthia walks up to me. Seemingly in a hissy-fit.)

“Um, excuse me….do you work here?” prodded Cynthia.

Do you see this nametag I’m wearing? How many people do you know that walk around throughout their day wearing a nametag?

“Oh, of course you do,” she answered herself, “You’re wearing one of those shirts. I’m trying to find your pickles.”

Oh, one of those shirts. Well at least they aren’t making me wear a sweater-cardigan-vestie with pumpkin heads every three inches like you’re sporting this morning, Cynthia.

“Yeah, they’re right over here. Let me walk you over to ’em,” I said as I started down toward the ‘pickle section.’

As we stopped and I pointed at the pickles, I could tell that Cynthia either had a sudden bowel movement that forced her face to contort into a weird grimace, or that she was not pleased with our selection of pickles.

“Yeaahhhh, these aren’t the ones,” Cynthia informed me, “Where are your other pickles?”

“These are the only pickles that we’re carrying right now,” I informed her.

“No, no, no. You have other ones,” she corrected me, “I think they’re buttered pickles or something like that.”

She must be thinking about the infamously discontinued ‘Bread & Butter Pickles’ that had been taken off the Trader Joe’s shelves six months prior.

Reacting with as much sympathy as I could, I said, “Oh right, Trader Joe’s no longer carries the Bread & Butter Pickles. They’ve been discontinued and we don’t know if they’ll be back anytime soon.”

“Oh yes, you do carry them,” Cynthia notified me as she continued to impart her all-knowing demeanor upon the situation.

Cynthia, did you hear what I just told you.

“Well, I am just about certain we don’t have any,” I attempted to say rather nicely, “The pickles were a discontinued product that left the shelves before summer began…and that was about six months ago.”

“No, you guys have them,” she again told me. “I know you do, I bought them last week.”

Really. Last week? The only real certainty I believe in is my faith in Christ. However, Cynthia, you are persuading me that human beings are LIARS.

“You bought them last week?” I questioned her as she might be mistaking Trader Joe’s for another grocery store that does sell Bread & Butter Pickles.

“Yes,” she said. “I bought them here last week. At this store. They come in a glass jar and have….”

Blah, blah, blah. You are a liar. There is no feasible way that you bought them here last week. They’ve been off the shelf for at least six months. Cynthia: you are lying to me.

“Um, I don’t know if you bought them here or not but I’m pretty sure we don’t have them right–“

“Oh, so you’re only ‘pretty sure’ you don’t have them?” she asked as she cut me off. “Do you think that you could go look for them for me in the back there?”

Queue the music. “I would do anything for you….”  Thank you, Meatloaf, for giving me inspiration to help this liar of a lady.

“I’ll be right back out,” I said to her as I walked into the freezer.

Knowing fully well that the pickles Cynthia was requesting did not exist and that my time in the freezer was pointless, I stood there and contemplated life. Who was this lady that has damanded a phanton-product? Why could she not believe me – a credible and believable source of information pertaining to Trader Joe’s products? Why did she lie to me? What am I still doing in this rediculously cold freezer?

I walked up to Cynthia knowing that my time with her was just about complete.

All I have to do is politely tell her that there were no Bread & Butter Pickles in the back and she’ll be pleased with the extra effort I put into attemping to locate those darned pickles in the sub-arctic freezer temperatures.

“Ma’am,” I began, “There aren’t any pickles in the back room. Is there anything else I can help you find today?”

“Well you sure came back quick. Did you even look?” she replied.

I’m gunna stuff you in a freezer.

“Yes, ma’am, I looked,” I said. “There aren’t any pickles in our back room.”

“Can you look them up and see when they’re coming in next?” she prodded.

At this point, I really don’t know what else to say. I know she is conversing with me as she responds to words I say. But it doesn’t really seem as if she really understands what I’m telling her. These are the times while at work that I wish I possessed an airhorn so when a customer tried to ask me a question, I could squeeze the airhorn and interrupt their ill-thought-out question. I think it would make a pretty funny video.

“Yes,” I agreed, “I’ll go look them up.”

She followed me over to the computer and stood behind the counter watching as I looked up those precious pickles. Typing in her request to see if any ‘Bread & Butter Pickles’ were scheduled to come in the next week, Cynthia continued to shoot evil glances at me with her eyes.

To inform the reader, a discontinued product will usually have some form of information underneath it, indicating the reason the product was discontinued – slow sales, specific for a certain season, or even conflicts in the cost of producing a product. However, since the Bread & Butter Pickles had been discontinued for over six months, that information didn’t even show up.

“Well it doesn’t seem like we’ll be getting this product anytime soon,” I informed her, worried that she would want to analyze the computer screen and see for herself.

Upon hearing this, Cynthia walked away without saying goodbye.

Goodbye, Cynthia. I really value and appreciate your kindness. I wish we could’ve chatted longer. Especially about that lovely pumpkin sweater you’re wearing.

 

So I’ll give you another try. True or False: Customers at Trader Joe’s are always right.

Circle your answer and turn it in.

The Day I Made America Laugh

So I’m at work one day at the fine establishment that is Trader Joe’s. I had just completed working through my section and had moved on to spot-mopping. Some of you may be unfamiliar with the term “spot-mopping,” which is just a clever little name we give to cleaning up the spots (ie gum, shoe marks, and gunk) on the floor with a lightly dampened mop.

As I was making my way around the store, I heard a man ask my friend, Matt, where the hot dogs were located. Continuing to scrape the day-old gum off the floor, I listened as Matt struggled his way in letting this customer know where the hot dogs were. Thinking to myself, “Matt, come on! You know where the hot dogs are at!” I turned around and saw the reason he was fumbling through his words – it was him – Jim Halpert.

For years I’d seen him on TV and have laughed along with friends at his crazy office antics he pulls on Dwight and the rest of his co-workers. And, now, he was right there! He picked out his Hebrew Nationals and went on shopping, leaving me behind to finish cleaning up the gum.

–Digression–

What ever gives somebody the brilliant idea of spitting gum out on the floor? But I can tell you that at least once a day, someone will mistake the floor as a trashcan and leave their gum there. What possesses someone to the point where they can’t wait ten seconds to spit their gum out in a trash can? I’ll tell you what possesses someone: evil.

These are the people that will spit their gum out, stake out a spot in the store, and maniacally watch as a fellow human being stomps their foot in the gooey mess and curses into the air at their dumb luck. These are the people who use a restroom, pee on the toilet seat and don’t clean it up. These are the people who sneeze without covering their mouths in the buffet line. These are the people who fart in church and don’t go directly to God and ask for forgiveness. Amazing.

–End of Digression–

For the better part of the next twenty minutes, I creepily followed the television/movie star around pretending to mop the floor. I felt sort of like a stalker as I was assessing each of the items he and this strange lady were putting into their shopping cart. Ice cream. Pretty normal. Soup. I get that, too! Dried fruit?! Nooo, don’t get that! It tastes like old peoples’ skin if you were to nibble on them!

I decided I was wasting enough time as it was following these two people around…all the while getting paid for it. I put my mop down and headed to the front of the store. On my way up, I passed by one of the managers.

“Alec! Did you see John Krasinski?!” I asked him.

“Who’s John Krasinski?” answered Alec.

“You know, Jim Halpert….from The Office,” I informed him.

“Who’s Jim Halpert? And I haven’t even heard of The Office,” he unabashedly confessed.

Dumbfounded and understandably shocked, I stood there for a second or two and gave Alec the ‘disapproval scowl’ and shook my head. Explaining to him that he was a televesion star who had also been in some movies, he remarked, “So that’s why they were in here taking pictures!”

Knowing that ‘they’ can refer anywhere from Jim Halpert’s parents to pre-teen girls with uncontrolable crushes, I asked who ‘they’ was.

“The paparazzi!” he said.

At this point I don’t know who I was more excited to see – Jim Halpert or the paparazzi themselves! Anyone can see a movie star, that’s old hat. But who can say they have put a face on the paparazzi, the very folks who take distasteful pictures of Hollywood’s finest and print them in tabloids? I poked my head outside the door and saw no one with cameras or anything. The paparazzi are a sneaky people, like modern day ninjas. I give them credit for this.

Coming back into the store, I noticed Jim and this ‘other girl’ entering into one of the checkstands. I make a point here to say ‘other girl’ because she was clearly his girlfriend, however, clearly not Pam. This rocked my world. I felt like I, myself, was being cheated on. How could he do this to Pam? And who was this ‘other girl’?

Bringing myself back to reality, I told myself that The Office is just a TV show and that Jim really isn’t that bad of a person. And, actually, his name isn’t even Jim. As their grocery items were flying through the check stand, I noticed that no one was bagging their groceries. Knowing that I probably won’t ever get a shot like this again, I awkwardly speed-walk over to the check stand and begin placing their ice cream and old peoples’ skin into paper bags.

Mr. Krasinski had his head down playing with his phone as I was him and his ‘other girl’ on the opposite side of the register. Interesting, he’s taller than I thought…and he wears hats. He actually looks good in a hat. And a beard! Never would’ve thought about that. I wonder if he’s contemplated growing it out for the show?

All of these questions (and so much more!) running through my own preteen girl-with-a-crush mentality. Halfway through asking them silly checkstand-banter questions and trying to muster enough courage to ask Jim if, in real life, he was friends with Dwight, I heard a loud noise from behind me.

“You have to get out! Please leave!” shouted Alec near the exit of the store.

I noticed that paparazzi were poking their heads in and snapping some shots as Alec was ushering them out. Taken aback by the noise for a few moments, I turned back to finish bagging and stopped and looked at Jim. He was looking up from his phone at the commotion and noticed me looking at him. Without hesitation or really even thinking, I told him, “I hate when they take pictures of me working.”

Standing there, he looked at me for a second and started to laugh. I blushed like a little girl and continued putting their groceries in bags marveling at my witty comment. Gosh, I’m pretty funny! I don’t even know where that came from! Jim didn’t seem as impressed with my comment as I was and began burying his head in his phone just as quickly as I made him chuckle. So as I finished putting their groceries away, I kindly asked if they needed any help out and left them to bag another customer’s bags.

Midway through packing bags, I looked up and met eyes with Jim one last time. He looked and me and said, “Thanks, I’ll see ya later.” My heart sunk. If ever I have felt like a girl being asked by the star quarterback to the Prom, this was it. Not only did he compliment me and say ‘Thank you,’ but he also said ‘See ya later.’ See ya later!?! Could this be his round-a-bout way of asking me to cameo on his TV show? Possibly!

It has been about two months since this encounter and I have not been contacted in the least bit. No phone call to make a guest appearance on The Office. No text message from Jim asking if I want to catch a movie on Friday night. Not even a visit from him back into Trader Joe’s. My hope in Hollywood stardom has been crushed, as is my trust in people who’ve made it big.

There is a bright side to this story, however. As I began to think about it, I started to have a better outlook to life. In the few short minutes I had with Jim Halpert, I made him laugh. Every week, Jim Halpert makes people laugh. According to the Law of Detachment (if p and [p implies q] then we conclude q), I made America laugh. In just a couple minutes I made one of the funniest people in America chuckle to himself. And every week, he goes out and makes the people of this fine country laugh to their hearts’ end. I really see no way around it – I am one of the funniest people in America. I’m where Jim, when feeling down and lonely, thinks back to the good ‘ol days of TJ’s and remembers his funny friend that made him laugh. I give hope to Jim and, thus, I give hope to America. Maybe even more hope than Barack Obama…

Maybe…