In Search of Licorice at Trader Joe's NYC

The line starts where you walk in the door. Two lines actually. And these lines have one employee each standing at the ends holding up signs that say: end of the line. Should I take this as a warning to flee? But I am in search of licorice!

I am about to take you on a journey with me into the Trader Joe's food market near Union Square in NYC. Grab a shopping basket or push a mini cart and just get on the line. That's right. Don't shop first. Just get on the line that snakes throughout the store, up and down and around many, though not quite all, of the aisles.

While making my way through the store, I pass cereal and cookies, salad dressing and bags of flavored popcorn, turkey patties and chicken apple sausage. I did not realize I wanted all of these things, but as I am forced to linger alongside all of these items, they somehow wind up in the basket I have hooked in the crook of my arm.

Everyone around me is doing the same thing, shopping while creeping along in the line, and a camaraderie begins to develop. The person in front of me puts her basket down on the floor and asks me to kick it along while she goes in search of organic cherries. I try not to let it show on my face that I find this to be an odd request, and I comply. But it is only a matter of seconds before I go from finding this behavior weird to doing it myself as I realize my line has bypassed the pasta aisle. Without shame, I drop my basket to hold my place and ask the same favor of the man behind me. This is how I score some gnocchi. Yes!

But where is the long, chewy red licorice that has caused this visit? (We had received some as a gift and it was time to replace it.) When I realize my journey on the line is nearing the end without a licorice sighting, I drop my basket again with nothing more than a casual nod to my line-buddy-best-friend and dash up an aisle that seems to have candy and other goodies. They are out of licorice!

So what! I no longer care. Look at this container of all-natural fruit jellies! I sprint back to my self-sliding basket, and I see I have reached the bank of more than 20 cash registers. Situated at this juncture atop a step ladder is an employee whose sole function is to direct the next person in line to whichever cashier is ready.

"Number 17," the ladder lady says to me.

I look up to see a cashier at the far end waving a paddle with a big 17 on it. Off I trot there, swinging my overflowing basket, feeling like I just won the grand prize. And as I exit after paying, I walk past the end-of-the-line signs again and know that, actually, it is just the beginning.