Trader Joes.

I was in Trader Joes last night picking up some chocolate bars—Valrhona, the best chocolate on earth.

I’m something of a newbee to Trader Joes, people are all like, “you gotta shop at Trader Joes!” you don’t shop at Trader Joes?” Thing is, I don’t really get Trader Joes. It’s a weird place—I mean, a hipster grocery store? But they have Valrhona, so whatever.

But as I walked down the aisles of pickled artichoke hearts, a million varieties of olives, strange brands of chips I’ve never heard of, and other delectables, I observed my fellow customers with their assortment of piercings and tats, bike shoes and ironic t-shirts.

Then I had a BFO[*]: everyone was stoned.

Now I understand Trader Joes! Stoner groceries. Have a craving for canned peaches topped with Bavarian chocolate syrup? You got it. Goat yogurt with huckleberrys? Aisle 3. Honey smoked salmon on stone ground spelt crackers? Well, just so happens that’s on special today. Grava juice with malted milk balls? Have a nice day.

I suspect they don’t need much parking in these places, since must staff and customers arrive by bike or, better, skateboard. I wonder if they close for Burning Man? Trader Joes in Denver, Portland, and Seattle must be crazy busy.

So now that I’ve drank the Kool-Aid—sorry, the Trader Joe’s Matcha Green Tea Latte—I’m going to get me some dreads, stream some Phish and go back next month. I gotta have my Valrhona.

[*] blinding flash of the obvious

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