Funny how the places you go constantly you never think about as “visiting,” like TJ’s.
My weekly haunt. I feel like this is my Trader Joe’s, and everyone else shopping there should just get the hell out. I manifest this by walking with my plastic basket to the side, taking up the entire aisle. It doesn’t help that I have a route that will never change. Enter garage, get plastic cart, get fruit, get bread, get milk, get free coffee and chat with sample person. Buy whatever I sample. Get premade salad, have internal discussion with self in dessert aisle, and head to checkout where I banter with clerk. God, I love Trader Joe’s:
– green thai curry!
– ginger milk lotion
– dunkable cookies with chocolate
– little summer squash
– whole protein bread
Some woman in front of me had about 2 boxes of wine, all different types, so the poor clerk had to scan each one. She also had about twenty individual yoghurts (filling up land fill as we speak with single size packaging!). Nobody wanted to get behind her in line. I did, nice person that I am, and am now blogging about her alcoholism. She was around 50, wan faced, and packing some pounds. Curiously, she paid with two hundred dollar bills (total was 180). Who gets hundred dollar bills? I’ve always wondered.
I had too many of the flaming something bowls last night at the tiki bar on Broadway- Bamboo Hut. It’s a fun place with killer cheap cocktails during happy hour. They also play a nice medly of 80s heavy metal, power ballads, etc. that we all try to identify in the first few measures.
Overheard: “I’m going to take this little thing (holds up doodad) and put it in these little bags (holds up ornately designed gift bag) and mail them to all of my cousins!” Egads. How can I spend so much money at this place? It’s all doo-dads! Ornamental! Not a useful thing in the shop. I wish it wasn’t so close to my house.