So. In case you haven’t heard, “these are hard times.” I’ve cut back on my spending my getting shit faced at my apartment before I go out, wearing my clothes inside out to get twice the bang for my buck, and grocery shopping for my lunches at work.
So instead of purchasing a mediocre sandwich from Subway or splurging on a step-above-mediocre panini from the place down the street, I’ve resorted to making my own mediocre sandwich in my office kitchen. Recessionista indeed! However, these mediocre sammies have led me to the Mecca of all bohemian struggling artists and intelligents – Trader Joe’s.
During a recent shopping trip, I regressed back to my days as a young Catholic school girl and began incessantly whispering about a pair of adorable men my eyes immediately focused on upon entering. As I continued my journey down the aisles, I literally had a moment out of Looney Tunes: you know the scene where the cartoon’s eyes bug out and their heart literally is beating out of their chest. Everywhere I looked I was falling in infatuation. God, as if I didn’t already love Trader Joe’s enough.
Each worker is essentially, a real life version of nerdy-heartthrob Seth Cohen from the O.C. A boy that is remarkably adorable with boyish charm up to here (hand reaching up to eye-level) that is completely clueless just how endearing he is. The boy that gets off on “weird” music and has no idea who Brody Jenner is. The boy who’s conversation can extend beyond the categories “sports,” “tv/movies” and “totally awesome college stories.” Dreamboats basically.
Now I am of course romanticizing all of this right now because, just as I did when I was a young school girl, all I could do in front of these minimumwage grocery store employees was gawk, avert my eyes when there was a chance they noticed me staring at them and then whisper about how “in love” I am. My guess is that all of these employees are working at TJ’s until they can finish school or be discovered as the next great band/artist/writer. I would also guess that a good portion of them are totally full of themselves and have a following of girls like me who swoon over the anti-frat type of guy. I mean I guess if they’re trying to convince others that they’re the greatest thing since David Bowie they’d have to believe it too. But… in the collection of workers there must be, has to be, a boy who is exactly as I described above. And we will find each other, fall in love and forever eat hummus and pita chips together.
Until then… I will just have to go every week and quietly lurk in the aisles looking for a mysterious can of salsa until that one special worker helps me. (Or until I have a restraining order slapped on me because man, that sounds creepy.)