Average Jane



Friday night and the order of things

I picked out a cute outfit and did my hair — braided pigtails — and plunked on a hat. I threw on my new cute white sneaks and left the apartment feeling confident and ready for a good time.

I was going to Trader Joes. It’s my favorite evening activity.

I go to Trader Joes at night for a number of reasons: solitude, sense of security, hope of meeting like minded people, knowledge that I’ll meet *nice* people at the very least. And tonight I was not disappointed. Well, the one guy (tall, close beard, one “diamond” earring) wasn’t too keen on helping me find the almonds I wanted. Dry roasted unsalted. They were clearly out and I wasn’t interested in the other 10 varieties they had in stock. “You got a craving or something?” No, douchebag. But thanks. Lucky enough the ambiguously gendered “Pat” was more than happy to help me find the agave. S/he told me about the taste test they did. “It tastes a little grassy if you eat it alone.” — “Oh, I said. Like the non-animal version of ‘gamey’?” Yes! S/he exclaimed. So helpful! Thanks, Pat!

Perhaps I go there thinking that one day I might meet the man of my dreams at Trader Joes. Someone who values quality, moderately priced, amazingly tasty food, and as well as good service and a company that takes pride in not only its products, but also in the experience of its customers. I figure, one night we’ll both reach for the organic, gluten-free marinara sauce at the same time and fall in love. I am so suburban.  And delusional.

Then I came home to put my groceries away before heading to Mama Lucia’s for a night cap with some neighbors. I came home, looked in my pantry and honestly thought… honestly…

My pantry has no purpose.

I realized that the vitamins and coffee filters and light bulbs were on the same shelf  as the candles. And the dust-buster was buried in shopping bags. And before I could finish putting away the perishables or turn on the TV or flip open my lap top, I was wrist deep in pantry-stuffs trying to make sense of my pantry. Trying to create order in my kitchen.

My therapist would have a field day. Was this this singletons form of nesting? Was I transferring my need for order in my life to the wire shelves of my pantry? Was this all I had control over on my lonely Friday night?

The silence of the kitchen was surprisingly comfortable. It allowed me to focus on the task at hand. I needed to get my “things” in order. I needed my pantry to make sense. And finally it did. I stepped back and felt better about it all. Exactly what “it all” was and how “it all” went so awry is another story entirely.

Anyway – now that my pantry is in order, perhaps I can move on to the rest of my life. And perhaps it’ll involve my dream man, Trader Joe.

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Comments

  1. * Mr. Emily says:

    in my experience one never meets anyone with the expectation or anticipation. it happens when you least likely expect it.

    oh and word to Trader Joes. It makes my world go round. Their raw almonds are to die for.

    what’s up with you and your pantry?! you are lucky you have one!

    | Reply Posted 9 years, 2 months ago
  2. * Ibid says:

    I keep a better stocked pantry at work than I do at home.

    | Reply Posted 9 years, 2 months ago


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