As usual, John cradled Mr. Wiggles like a delicate heirloom while navigating the parking lot. Inside the store, he carefully placed his plushie in the child seat of the shopping cart, buckling it in with the thin strap. Mr. Wiggles looked regal, surveying the aisle of organic produce like a tiny monarch.
John got distracted almost immediately upon entering, overwhelmed by the seasonal items: candy cane Joe-Joe's, turkey stuffing-flavored kettle chips, and a display of advent calendars featuring mischievous cats. Enthralled by a shelf of Scandinavian Swimmers, John left his cart—and Mr. Wiggles—unattended in the snack aisle.
When he turned back, his cart was gone.
Panic set in. “Where’s Mr. Wiggles?!” John shrieked, his voice echoing through the store. Nearby shoppers glanced over, assuming he’d lost a child. A Trader Joe’s employee, wearing the signature Hawaiian shirt, cautiously approached.
“Sir, is everything alright?”
“No, everything is not alright! Someone kidnapped my—uh, shopping cart,” John replied, catching himself before admitting he was talking about a plushie. “It’s a red cart. With… uh… very important items inside.”
The employee nodded with professional calm. “We’ll help you locate it. Could you describe what was in the cart?”
“Uh… yeah, organic bananas, a tub of Unexpected Cheddar, and…” He hesitated, then whispered dramatically, “Mr. Wiggles.”
The employee blinked. “Mr. Wiggles?”
“Yes. My plush red panda. Irreplaceable. He was buckled in.”
The employee maintained their composure, though their lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. “I’ll make an announcement.”
Within moments, the cheerful store intercom crackled: “Attention, Trader Joe’s shoppers. If you have accidentally taken a cart containing a… um… plush red panda, please return it to the front desk. Thank you!”
John, however, was not content to wait. He took matters into his own hands, sprinting through aisles with the urgency of a man searching for a winning lottery ticket. He questioned strangers, peered into unattended carts, and even interrogated a confused mom who was loading frozen turkey meatballs into her own cart.
“Are you sure you didn’t take a cart with a red panda plushie?!” he demanded.
“I—I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she stammered.
In his frenzy, John eventually made his way to the frozen food aisle, where he spotted a child—maybe four years old—gleefully hugging Mr. Wiggles. The boy’s father was browsing frozen cauliflower pizza crusts, oblivious to the chaos unfolding behind him.
John froze, torn between his desperation to retrieve Mr. Wiggles and the social taboo of snatching a plushie from a toddler. But this was his Mr. Wiggles. Summoning his courage, he crouched to the boy’s level and said in the gentlest tone he could muster, “Hi there, buddy. That’s a really cool red panda you’ve got there.”
The boy nodded enthusiastically. “He’s mine now.”
John felt a cold sweat. “Actually, he’s mine. I think he got lost and ended up in your cart by mistake. Could I have him back, please?”
The boy clutched Mr. Wiggles tighter, his eyes narrowing. “No.”
Desperate, John resorted to negotiation. “What if I buy you… uh… a bag of those chocolate-covered peanut butter cups? Or a whole box of Joe-Joe’s? You like Joe-Joe’s, right?”
The boy considered this for a moment before shaking his head. “I want ice cream.”
John sighed. “Fine. Ice cream it is.”
He dashed to the freezer, grabbed a pint of Mango Sorbet, and handed it to the boy. The child reluctantly released Mr. Wiggles, and John hugged his plushie as if reuniting with a long-lost friend.
As he walked away, victorious but slightly humiliated, the boy’s father finally noticed the exchange. “Wait, did you just bribe my kid for a stuffed animal?”
John didn’t stop to explain. He hurried to the checkout, clutching Mr. Wiggles and muttering, “No plushie left behind.”
On his way out, the Trader Joe’s employee gave him a knowing look. “Glad you found your… important item, sir.”
“Thanks,” John said, avoiding eye contact. He placed Mr. Wiggles in the passenger seat of his car, buckling him in for safety.
As he drove home, he thought about posting the story on HFBoards, but then decided against it. Even he knew this one would earn him a lifetime of ridicule.
