I walk the extra blocks to Trader Joe’s primarily for its wine selection and prices. But, I don’t go there as my regular shopping place because lately the checkers have just made me crazy. Today, I present my most recent (ie 20 minutes ago) encounter with a Trader Joe’s checker.

 
Scene: Trader Joe’s in Foggy Bottom, Washington, DC

I, of course, have several bottles of wine in my basket, so I have my ID handy because they always card me despite being 26 years-old with the scowl of a 65 year-old woman.

Checker: Can I see your ID please?

Me: Here you go.

Checker: Missoura, huh?! How’d you get out here?

[Inner-monologue: Missouri. And why is it so amazing that someone from Missouri moved to Washington, DC?]

Me: I work here.

Checker: Oh! I’ve never been to the midwest, but people always say the people out there are so nice.

Me: Yes.

Checker: My cousins moved out there from New York. And they just loved it! They always said everything was so much more affordable and the people are just so friendly and nice.

[Inner-monologue: Yes, we are just a bunch of ignorant hillbillies who don’t know about anything except being friendly.]

Checker: Isn’t Washington University there? That’s a good school.

Me: Yes, my sister goes there.

Checker: I’ve been to Chicago, but never St. Louis. They’re probably not too different. Although, I did go to a concert for that female singer from your state…Sheryl Crow?

[Inner-monologue: That female singer.]

Me: Yes.

Checker: Well, here’s your receipt. Have a nice day.

That conversation was particularly galling. The checkers are also fond of commenting on my birthday. I am well aware that being born on September 11th was unfortunate. I do not need a random checker reminding me.