I went to Trader Joe's today. I hadn't been there since we got back from Austin (and they don't have Trader Joe's in Austin, so it had been awhile.

It occurred to me that I hadn't been in my local Trader Joe's since the "Roger incident."

Last June or so, I was in the store while the parents AND grandparents of a very ... um, HIGHSTRUNG 3 or 4 year old boy attempted to grocery shop. They entered at roughly the same time as me, which I remember because all of the child-sized shopping carts were either in use or otherwise unavailable for use by said boy. He did NOT react well.

It took all four adults to get him into the shopping cart seat. He flailed and wailed and twisted and contorted his body like one of those inflatable advertising noodle people. He screamed and shrieked and carried on for the entire time they were in the grocery shop. He was vile and cruel and nasty as they come, biting and spitting and shouting all manner of hateful epithets at the adults in his life.

In response, this is what they kept repeating, over and over. And over. In sappy, sing-songy, pleading voices. "What's wrong with Roger?" "What's wrong with Roger?" "Do you want a balloon, Roger?" "What's wrong with Roger?"

They got into a checkout line. I got into one, too -- far away. They finished before me, and the entire store breathed a collective sigh of relief as the automatic doors closed behind them. That, I thought to myself, is that.

Until I also exited the store. That's where I saw Roger, spreadeagled in the parking lot, having a full-body temper tantrum on the ground. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PARKING LOT. They let him flop around and kick while traffic ground to a halt around them, all the time repeating (you guessed it) "What's wrong with Roger? What's wrong with Roger?" in that same babying voice.

I put my groceries in my trunk and exited out the back side of the parking lot.

I do NOT want to see how Roger turns out. It's too terrifying to contemplate.