Sonoma Sojourn

So SO disappointing today…

My friend, Suzanne, and I spend a wonderful afternoon in Petaluma at the 10th Annual California’s Artisan Cheese Festival. We’ve tasted local wines, farmstead cheese, decadent chocolate, handcrafted beer, seasoned oils, artisan breads, crisp endive, California dates (fruit – not men), and more.

On the way home, we stop at Trader Joe’s to pick up a few grocery staples: riced cauliflower, turkey jerky, fresh vegetables, chicken, and fruit. We pull into the parking lot and hit parking lot karma: the first spot closest to the store’s entrance – a treat, since it’s been pouring all day and we can run into the store without our umbrellas.

We shop, we line up at the register, and our cashier is gregarious. He’s returned from Texas to visit his daughter, who moved there recently with a teacher’s job. He’d gone to the market while visiting there and purchased lemons, limes, cantalope, strawberries, chicken, fish, and more … for only $18!!!

“That’s better than shopping at Trader Joe’s!”, I say. I’m impressed. “Yes,” he tells me. “That’s why Trader Joe’s can’t compete down there.”

Mr. Cashier continues: “Gas is only $1.39/gallon there. It’s almost $3/gallon here.” He’s giddy sharing this information.

I agree that that’s a huge difference in pricing, but “I’m sorry,” I say., “It would take more than lower gas fees for me to move to Texas, at least until I hear otherwise – I don’t want to live that close to Ted Cruz.” I’ve been texting a lot lately, and I try to make an appropriate smiley face as I speak so that he will know I’m somewhat kidding.

I don’t think I succeed.

*  *  *  *  *

Suzanne and I hoist our two bags of groceries out of the shopping cart, which we leave outside Trader Joe’s door. We rush to deposit the bags into the trunk of the red Ford Fusion before they get soaked.

We slam the trunk door and tumble into the car. Before Suzanne closes her door, we hear a young man yell, “Do you want me take this carriage back to the store?” We see him hoist a cart off the curb next to our car.

We shout out the window, “Yes. Thank you!” We think he’s polite – even solicitous.

He grabs the red handle of the carriage and propels himself toward the store. He stops for a moment to yell over his shoulder:

“Next time, maybe you can bring this back yourself. It’s not that far a walk.”

He yells it in such a way that we know he is neither polite nor solicitous.

*  *  *  *  *

It takes less than a moment to compost what has just happened.

We realize this is a passive aggressive person who thought he was going to teach us a lesson. We wonder if he would have been so rude if we were elderly, or physically challenged by weight or otherwise.

We consider going into the store to find this person and let him know that he’s got this all wrong. We want him know that THAT was NOT our carriage, and we wonder what has happened in his life to make him so hostile (perhaps he will tell us).

*  *  *  *  *

So if you’re reading this, sir, please consider this:

You made an assumption today about the shopping cart – and, thus, you made an assumption about us. Luckily, it didn’t impact our lives in the overall scheme of things – except for the fact that it felt as if you’d punched us in the stomach with your mean spirit camouflaged as an act of kindness.

But on any other day, you might make a judgment about something you think you’ve witnessed. It could be misinformed … misjudged … a mistake. The repercussions of such a judgment just might ruin someone’s life: theirs, or yours.

Please don’t assume … “When you assume … you make an ass out of u and me …”