Who Does This Child Belong To And Why Is It Following Me Around This Trader Joe’s?

It definitely isn’t mine, and I can’t shake it. 

It started when I was trying to figure out how many mangos I can get with $2.47. I looked down and a little white pickney was standing too close to me. But I continued on to look at a bag of mixed greens and it happened again. When I reached down to grab the bag, the child was right there again. 

It was there again when I was looking at frozen patties and again when I was looking at avocados. It was still there even after I ran with my cart through frozen foods and desserts and hid by the almonds. I felt a gentle tug on my salmon colored sweater and I was scared to turn around.

I ran past the bread. I even hid in the bathroom for a few minutes, and when I came out, it was watching my cart! Once I got in line, there was nowhere to go and nothing to do if I wanted to get out of there alive. It was then that the child grabbed my hand.

Now I’m at the part of the line that the employee splits in two by directing you to the left or the right, and I’m wondering if this is how Stockholm Syndrome feels. I forgot Cookie Butter. Can I ask this little white child to go get it for me? As soon as I open my mouth, it looks up at me and screams, and another woman with similar hair and skin, a little ahead of me in line, wearing a salmon colored sweater like mine turns around and exclaims in a thick Jamaican accent: “Abbigail, where have you been? Get over here!” 

Ohhhhhh! I see what’s happened. No, we don’t all look the same. Little asshole. This would never happen in the Jamaican Trader Joe’s.