Williamsburg: A trip to Trader Joe's

On the first day of our vacation last weekend, my mom and I went to Trader Joe's to buy groceries. Any of you who have visited a Trader Joe's know that the cashiers are very talkative and friendly (I imagine this to be a job requirement) regardless of the state you may be shopping in. They are polite and friendly in Portland stores (expected) as well as locations on Long Island. It was no different in Williamsburg, Virginia.

As of 5PM last Saturday, we were not impressed by the people we interacted with, particularly at our hotel. The "concierge" did little more than give my sister hand lotion and write down the website for Busch Gardens (it's Buschgardens.com. We never would have figured that out without her). She did not help us purchase tickets ("Um, I can't do that"), offer to make a restaurant reservation (just said we should), or give any advice on discounts to the attractions we wanted to visit. She was less helpful than us doing the work ourselves on a laptop, which is what we ended up doing. We didn't understand her purpose. Even if we didn't have a laptop, it was clear that she would not help anyone do anything.

The man at the front desk was a second disappointment. He very rude and practically lectured me on not putting my key card near my cell phone. I cut him off, mumbling "I understand the concept" and walked away while he continued to scold me for my horrible misdeed.

Our impression of the local workforce so far was, "ugg, you are useless!", and was further reinforced at the grocery store check-out line.

"I love these," our cashier, an average-looking 20-year-old girl, told us, referring to the corn chips my mother was purchasing.

"Oh good," my mom responded, "I haven't had them."

"Yeah, they are great because they are easy to eat." They were oval-shaped rather than trianglular. "I can't figure our how to get the other kind in my mouth."

Are you serious? I thought. "You can't figure out how to put a chip in your mouth?" It isn't difficult to put chips in your mouth. Most people have learned to do that by now.

Well, she continued checking us out and she wasn't appallingly stupid. Her biggest problem was that she felt that she needed to keep talking, which was often unnecessary. (For instance, I learned that she is just shy of 20, and is excited to go to the one cool local bar, but is disappointed that it isn't as popular in the summer when most of the William & Mary students are away. I also listened to her ratings of several rides at Busch Gardens.) Finally, when I had almost forgotten her initial dim remark, she held up a cantaloupe and asked, "What is this again?"

"A cantaloupe," my mom told her politely. My mom is terrific at keeping a straight face. Her tone in no way implied that a 20-year-old grocery-store cashier should know what a cantaloupe is, or that a 20-year-old anyone should know what a cantaloupe is.

"I'm so bad at melons!"