Sundays are the best day for going to Trader Joe’s. Everyone comes out of the woodwork. Brad asked, “Did you come out of the woodwork?” I answered, “Well, I don’t think of myself as an oddity, but I guess the other customers don’t either.”
It’s certainly crowded, but I’m there to take my time. Weekends at TJ’s are when you’re most likely to see a variety of people. The Bohemian couples with no children are there for their organic bread and curry sauce. I almost ran into an unpleasant hippie today. I think he was younger then I am, which is 34. (I don’t know why he was grumpy. Everyone knows there’s a bottle neck at the sample bar.)
Today I went back for my 2nd sample of coffee. Talked a little more to Angelina, who often works the sample bar. She seems older than just 22. Most unmarried, childless 22 year old women don’t make friends with a mother of 3. But she invited me to dinner last month, along with two other customers. (More to come on that later.) Some mornings, we’re all back there, distracting her from her work. But she’s really good at selling us stuff. So it all works out.
Sunday is also the best day to hear all kinds of accents, surely some that I’ve never heard before. I’m getting better at distinguishing between German, Russian, and Czech, although not that great. It’s fun to try. I am oddly self conscious of my skirt length and tight pants around the more conservative Arabic immigrants. I don’t wear my yoga pants to the grocery store.
