
I don’t believe I’ve blogged enough about my love affair with Trader Joe’s. It’s possible I haven’t blogged about it at all. So I have some amends to make on this front. Trust but rectify, always.
Of course, this may be irrelevant. Trader Joe’s is a multiregional grocery store, but this is a big country. Texas, for instance, as far as I can tell, has not a single Trader Joe’s, and Texas is a pretty big country all by itself. And large swaths of the nation sit there swathing without a TJs, not knowing what they’re missing.
On the other hand, we have 14 here in Washington, including two that are equidistant from my house, about 10 minutes away, depending. And there are 16 in Massachusetts, where my daughter and son-in-law-in-waiting live. They are big TJ fans, too. There’s only one in Arizona and one in New Mexico. Maybe you guys can write letters or something.
You want to know why I like Trader Joe’s? Well, for one thing, the franchise began, in its original incarnation as a convenience store (called Pronto Market, a proto-7-11), in 1958. That’s right, the very year I was born. THE WORLD ACTUALLY DOES REVOLVE AROUND ME.
Then there’s the selection. TJs takes quirky to a new level, with new, exotic or at least interesting items popping up and then sometimes disappearing all in a matter of a week or so (it seems). You want organic? They got organic. You want Free Trade? Ditto. You want quality deli items? You’re going to pay for them, but they’re there.
They have no serious chilies. That’s my only complaint.
But my second-favorite reason for shopping there? I wander the aisles, do a complete sweep of the store (the one I go to is fairly small, so this isn’t hard), pick up all sorts of wonderful things, robust avocados and cherry tomatoes and frozen meatballs to die for and couscous and cookies and whole wheat pancake mix, and when I’m done I leave with a full bag having spent about 8 bucks. It’s like magic. But there’s more!
First-favorite reason (wait for it):
They have the hippest old people ever.
I watch old people a lot these days, trying to figure out where I fit in. So far I’m comfortable, both in my own skin and with my fellow 50s, although there are still those who succumb. You know the types. Mostly men, who apparently reach middle-age or thereabouts and think, “Hey, I’ve spent my entire life with reasonable taste in clothing. Time for a change.” And then there are the comb-overs (or, alternatively, the embarrassingly short haircuts), and the sensible shoes that do not — and I cannot emphasize this enough, but I will try, DO NOT — go well with shorts.
And Bluetooth. My, but de old people love dere Blueteeth. I see them all the time, wandering around the ordinary grocery stores, getting lost and looking confused but by God they’ve got their Bluetooth jammed almost completely into their ear, just in case the grandkids call or something.
I have no idea what this is about. I see young people all the time, and not one wears a headset. Ear pods, sure, but no Bluetooth. It’s the prerogative of the badly aging, apparently. Maybe they get The Weather Channel beamed directly in there, dunno.
But Trader Joe’s? Not a cellphone to be found. If you go during the day, you’ll find old people who look, amazingly enough, like young people who got older. Couples, mostly, perusing the produce and the coffee. They’re animated but low key, they come in all shapes and sizes but mostly look pretty fit, they murmur and nod, and they buy a lot of wine. Just saying.
It gives me hope. These aren’t aging hippies (although it’s possible they were hippies at one point), just aging graceful people who look pleasantly surprised to be alive and shopping, and as it turns out they came to the right place. Me too.