You had a list. Trader Joe’s had other plans.
There are few grocery stores that can rewrite your list within the first five minutes, but Trader Joe’s has built an entire business model around it. You go in for one specific item—let’s say the vegan spinach and cashew ravioli that Reddit has argued tastes better than homemade. That’s the plan. You expect to be in and out in eight minutes.
Wrath
“It’s fine. It’s totally fine.”
First, there’s the parking lot, which appears to have been designed by someone who has never actually operated a vehicle. Cars idle with their blinkers on, waiting out shoppers who are still inside deciding between sparkling waters. Two more circle the same open spot, neither willing to give up first. Someone in a Prius has been holding a spot with the engine running.
You park at the Dave & Buster’s next door and walk over, passing an abandoned cart halfway between the two lots.
Pride
“I have a vision.”
The flowers are the first thing inside the door, and the woman ahead of you is already elbow-deep in the dahlia bucket like she’s defusing something. Fall means sunflowers, ornamental peppers, little pumpkins, and women who already know exactly where all of them are going on a table you’ll never see. Two of them reach for the same bunch of rust-colored dahlias at once, and only one lets go.
A bouquet ends up in your arms before you’ve even grabbed a cart.
Envy
“Wait, what is that?”
You finally make it to the ravioli section, and it’s empty. There’s no sold-out tag or restock date, just cold plastic where the bag should be and a gap in the freezer case exactly the size of the thing you drove 20 minutes for.
A woman restocking pasta sauce asks if you’re finding everything okay. You tell her you’re fine because saying, “I only came here for the vegan ravioli I read about on Reddit, and now I’m standing in front of an empty freezer case,” makes the trip sound less reasonable than it already is. Then you notice the woman in the next aisle.
Her cart holds a loaf of pumpkin sourdough and something unidentifiable wrapped in shiny gold. You don’t know what the gold thing is, and you don’t particularly care. You only know that she has one and you don’t.
You head for the bread aisle and grab your own loaf. A few steps later, you spot a stack of the gold things on an endcap below a hand-drawn, cheeky sign. It’s a seasonal candle. You take one, telling yourself you’ll Google what “Falling Leaves” is supposed to smell like once you’re in the car.
Greed
“You’re already here.”
You make your way toward the nut butter. The brand you usually buy at the health food store is $12. Trader Joe’s version is $7, so you take two jars, then a crunchy one, then a sunflower seed butter you don’t need but justify because it comes from a different plant. A box of stone-ground crackers goes in too, trusted without tasting because enough strangers online have vouched for it.
On the way past the greeting cards, you remember that you haven’t bought one in more than a year and take nine. You have birthdays coming up, although you’re not sure whose, and this seems like the kind of preparation that will feel impressive when you find the cards in the drawer two weeks after the occasion.
Sloth
“It’s basically homemade.”
In produce, you collect broccoli crowns because pre-chopped foods are where you draw the line—except for the garlic, which comes pre-minced, sitting two feet from the whole bulbs you’re ignoring. A loaf of banana bread goes in too, since baking one yourself means locating the right pan and catching the bananas at the exact moment they stop being edible and start becoming a project.
Then the freezer aisle finishes the job: rice that steams in its own bag, dumplings that steam in their own bag, and a jar of sauce claiming to be restaurant-quality. It’s a full dinner that requires exactly one pan and no decisions you’d actually call cooking.
You chop the broccoli that night. The banana bread gets eaten in slices off a napkin, because washing another plate seems unnecessary.
Gluttony
“You’ll definitely eat all of this.”
At the sample station, you take a cup of the cauliflower gnocchi, tell the employee you’re “just deciding,” and go back for a second one 15 seconds later, because it’s free and you’re still standing there.
You put a bag of the gnocchi in the cart and keep shopping, adding a container of dark chocolate peanut butter cups, dried mango to convince yourself it cancels out the chocolate, and two boxes of the Pumpkin Joe-Joe’s you buy every year without remembering if you finished last year’s box.
Lust
“You just really like the way it smells.”
In the beauty aisle, caramel body butter is stacked three tubs deep and you pick one up mostly to smell it. Then you smell it again and briefly wonder if slathering yourself in it is enough to make someone overlook the fact that your “good” bra is technically old enough to vote, which is a rather inappropriate thought to have next to shampoo. It’s not something you needed before you saw it, and it’s not something you’ll remember to use once it’s sitting in your bathroom cabinet next to three other lotions that are all technically still usable. You buy it anyway.
At the register, the total comes to $100.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” the cashier asks.
You tell him yes.
You came for a $4 bag of ravioli. You never found it.
21 Responses
Well I am extremely lucky because I live in BROOKLYN New York and there is plenty of Trader Joe there and not too far from Subways but not many; actually I do not remember any parking lots but guess what ?people do not care no I should say women do not care they double park in the street or the pavement yep you read it well pavement so there is always lots of screaming from pedestrian and driver and to make it interesting on the front of one Trader Joe there is a fruits and vegetables stand a independent salesmen right on the front of Trader Joe on the pavement why ?how? what going on? and he is always extremely busy with a line of harried women screaming to be heard. welcome to New York. and the lines in trader Joe well is like a well organized chaos so if you came for the apple cider donuts you might not leave until at least 2 hours later felling like a warrior who wan the battle of her life until you realize you forgot the almond milk .
Loved this! Right now comes the stampede to get the seasonal autumn/maple items and the seasonal tote bags. While it’s hard for me to shop there without getting several spontaneous purchases, I’ve rarely been disappointed and the prices aren’t awful. The Trader Joe’s struggle is real, but it’s still the best grocery store ever.
I grew up where Trader Joe’s started, in Padadena. My favorite things: apple cider donuts, Thai Ginger Sauce, Ginger People chews, pumpkin waffles, very good bottled root beer, and always cheap bananas. I try not to look up at all the chocolate & cookies above the frozen goods. Recently stuck in a horrid ball up on 101, I ate almost an entire bag of dried mango slices dipped in chili pepper. TJ, a guilty pleasure.
Abby,
I lived this just two hours ago.
First, I circled the TJ’s parking lot, round and round–something I’m good at after years of childhood birthday party musical chairs. I survived and entered. Then, I contemplated pumpkin gnocchi and pumpkin samosas. I daydreamed about chilly days so I could enjoy their orange and cranberry scones with herbal tea. But I live in LA; we’re in the middle of a fall heatwave. Like a zombie, I zoned in on the caramel body butter, wondering if I’d smell too much like a big cookie slathered in the stuff.
I’m too easy. TJ’s has me hooked–all they have to do is play Wall of Voodoo’s “Mexican Radio” over the sound system, and I automatically shuffle toward the salsas.
I related far too well to this.
And this comment made me literally laugh at loud. Appreciate you being here and chiming in.
This made me laugh out loud. The body butter 😅
I love this! I have a TJs in my town and have been shopping there since they opened 12 or 13 years ago. When people talk about the parking lots, I always have to comment that ours isn’t like “that” because our TJs is in a stadium complex and there’s plenty of parking and it’s very spacious. And then last week, I walked out of the store to find a woman standing by my car. Oh no. She and her big Volvo wagon hit my car pulling into her spot. So, now I’m onboard with complaining about the parking.
First, I’m jealous of your parking lot, which I don’t think I’ve ever said before. Second, I feel your pain. That happened to me at Walmart, except a) they didn’t stick around to tell me and b) it double sucked because I was at Walmart. Thank you for reading!
Great article that made me lol this morning. A great way to start the day. I have been a TJ’s fan for over 15 years. Whenever I visit another city or state I make sure I visit a TJ’s store. I always feel at home there.
Same! I remember going to one before they were actually popular when I lived in a different city. We actually just got our first one here about five years ago, but it’s on literally the busiest, worst stretch of road for 100 miles. I have to mentally prepare for a week just to make the 20-minute drive, and then mentally decompress and feed my feeling with TJ’s snacks when I get home to recover. I consider it a fair trade-off. 🙂
There is a serious reality failure in this story, one that shows that you have never driven a Prius. The engine turns off when you are not moving unless the engine is still cold or the hybrid battery is discharged; most of the time when you see one sitting still, its engine is not running.
This article is hilarious and spot on in all the ways. I hate to admit how many times I’ve driven around the TJ’s parking lot and not gotten out of my car.
” your ‘good’ bra is technically old enough to vote” might be the funniest line I’ve read all year.
Ha! Thanks for the kind note. I think I’m also common law married to the sweatshirt I’m wearing, but it’s nothing a little body butter that makes me smell like a Dairy Queen sundae can’t fix.
You’re correct. I’ve never driven a Prius and have only seen them on the road and waiting for parking spots, so my mechanical vehicle understanding is far less impressive than my mental inventory of Trader Joe’s nut butters. Now I know they’re sitting in their cars, engines off, waiting for those spots.
I found this article to be very well written-! She writes with humor; I laughed out loud a couple of times. I shop at Trader Joe’s regularly and can totally relate!
Welcome to the Trader Joe’s support group. The therapy is free, but the cost of refreshments will be approximately $96 more than you bargained for.
This is SO SPOT ON! Hilarious! I love TJs so much! Bought -6 cards last week – a couple that I actually used and the rest because I liked the artwork! Planning to frame a couple for seasonal decor – we will see!
And the cost of six at Trader Joe’s is basically equal to the price of a Hallmark card. Plus, bonus snacks!
I shop at Trader Joe and have never experienced a single thing mentioned in this article. It’s the writer’s personality she is discussing, not the store.
Yep my thoughts as well….funny though…
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Oh, I fully own that I have issues. But at the same time, I also know that I’m not alone. 🙂