Trader Joe's: The Hipster Smack

In ninth grade, because I fancied myself a badass, and because I was utterly wrong, I had many (what I thought of as) hip tees. Hip like “Funkin Go Nuts” spelled out to the Dunkin Donuts logo, or “White Trash” to the Oscar Meyer wiener logo. My favorite of all was purchased in London and red with the words, “Ketamine: The Techno Smack”. The draw to this one was twofold. First, it showed the world that I knew what Special K and raves were (thereby proving what a badass thirteen year old I had become), and the second was that my mom believed me when I told her it was a band, therefore enabling me to wear it.

As I clutched a bag of prized Peruvian rice and whole-wheat waffles, I was reminded of that shirt for the first time in years.

The past few months have not tamed the beast that is Trader Joe's. Oh no friends, no they have not. First of all, at certain times, there’s still a line to get inside. Inside! And with a friendly, bearded treehugger at the front, cracking jokes and kicking an invisible hackeysack, not letting anyone in while simultaneously singing the praises of his employer’s establishment. Nice guy, but really not in the mood for it as I’m waiting in the crushing heat. As I stood seven deep in a line…to get in…a grocery store…I could almost hear my mother cackling with a really clichéd accent, “Ooooonly in New Yaaawwwk!”

Once inside, one line is traded for another, the newest snakes past dairy, around the produce, and doublebacks near granola in an ingenious way. Like one of the rides at Six Flags where they bundle in tightly woven gridlines so you can’t tell how long a wait you actually have. A guy in glasses holds a cutesy, cartoony sign that beckons, “Line starts here!” instead of “One hour wait for morons right here!” to lift the mood.

To circumvent delay and maximize shopping, some couples have formed systems in which one will wait on the atrocious line, empty-handed, while the other races around the store, haphazardly grabbing items and tossing them at their partner in a makeshift version of Supermarket Sweep. Who can grab the most trade-free items first before the line is at the counter? All you got was organic asparagus and fruit leather? Too bad! Times up!

What makes this event even better is that people can only run in spurts, since it’s more crowded than Sheep’s Meadow on a Summer Friday. Everywhere you turn, you bump someone, or an old lady steamrolls over you. Everything is nearly sold out, and that frenzies the masses even more. Give me that edamame you bitch! I was here first! The hell you were! Okay, fine, I’ll trade you for this jar of almond butter. What do you mean, “Maybe next time??” Screw you!

There are mommies, hippies, respectable homeowners and teens. But most of all, it’s a sea of hipsters, with a few scattered yuppies in the mix. Everyone is strung out on branded pitas. People are grabbing pseudo-Terra Chips like it’s moonshine. It’s pure, unadulterated mayhem.

And highly addictive. I'm drawn to it like no other, engaging in this ridiculous activity regardless of how obscenely difficult it is. More violence than your average bar crawl, more eye candy than any club, and more half-grown mullets and mustaches than Williamsburg.

It reminds me of that time in ninth grade when my wardrobe was dictated by obscure, irreverent sayings and logos. Hmmm. Kind of like it is now.

Trader Joe's: The Hipster Smack.

Someone ought to make a T-shirt.