Ever since I moved to the Lower East Side, I’ve been doing all my grocery shopping at the Trader Joe’s on Grand Street. And ever since I’ve been shopping at Trader Joe’s, I’ve found I can’t stop falling in love with every hot alt girl who rings me up. It’s an epidemic.
As soon as I get in line with my Joe-Joes and my jicama wraps I see the tattoos and the piercings, and I just get so…flustered. Immediately I’m imagining a future with her, us going off the grid with our rescue dog, Simone (named after de Beauvoir) and our Subaru, rollerblading around the national parks of the Pacific Northwest.
It doesn’t even matter which alt girl it is; if she’s wearing flannel and Docs, I’m imagining a future with her. We would have picnics in the park and she would bring all the newest Trader Joe’s products and blindfold me and have me guess what they are from taste and texture alone. Ethically sourced dragon fruit jerky and boygenius in Brooklyn Bridge Park. Post-COVID we’d even go see them at Rough Trade or the Mercury Lounge.
Gaaaah, I have to stop! This has to stop. I just need to start going to the line being manned by the middle aged man wearing knee pads. There’s no funny business there, only serious ringing up and a “Did you find everything you were looking for ma’am?” Ugh, but what if he rings the bell because the melon I bought is a little soft and one of those cute alt girls comes to help? Fuuuuuck me.
HornRimmer 