The Ultimate Guide to Trader Joe's Dating
I may be old, but those checkout friendlies make me think I’ve got a chance
True confession: I’ve never used a swipe dating app. Here’s another truism. Who needs one as long as Trader Joe’s is around?
It’s true that I’m 30-40 years older than most Trader Joe’s checkout friendlies, and it’s also true that the only time I’ve had blue hair was when I put a blue shirt over my head that got soaked during a rainstorm at a baseball game.
Doesn’t matter. 60 is the new 40. And if 90-year-old Rupert Murdoch can do it, so can I.
Anyway, you don’t have to be young to know that Trader Joe’s is a lot more efficient than a swiping app if you’re trying to do whatever the kids are calling it these days. When I was young, we called it dating. Later, it was called hooking up.
Now it’s called, “doing anything at all to avoid sex and/or marriage.” I think. At my age, I can barely keep up with which socks have holes in them, much less current trends.
The goal here, though, is to try to expand on the built-in friendliness of Trader Joe’s checkout personnel. If they’re flirting, let’s make them own it.
I don’t even need to shop.
All I need to do is go to TJ’s and buy one of those big flat candy bars. An interesting one, like “98% Dark Chocolate with orange marmalade and Umami mushroom filling.”
I then scan the checkout lanes. I look for the oldest woman. Woman because I’m not gay (but if I were, I do see a couple of interesting options!). And oldest, because I still have a shred of decency in me.
My chosen has blue hair, of course. I approach, and she has a wonderful set of crow’s feet on an idyllic face. And short (blue) hair. I also notice she’s wearing a tool belt. With tools. This excites me. I confidently lay the candy bar flat on the checkout platform, label side up. Will she ring that Trader Joe’s bell? I’m nearly hot with anticipation.
In a cheery, seductively hoarse voice, she says, “Oh, is that all today? Didn’t find what you were looking for?”
I decide to see how open to a relationship she is with her customers, so I go with the bad boy approach and snarl as I say menacingly, “This was all I wanted.”
You’ve never heard my old guy snarl, but I’ve used it for years. It’s an act, but it’s fun. And very believable. I’ve cleared off a lot of lawns with it.
She takes the bait and examines the package.
No, you filthy readers. Not that package. God. What’s wrong with you people?
“Oh! This is interesting!” she smiles. “I’ve never seen this before!”
“I found it all by myself,” I reply with a smart look from my very blue eyes (sadly, now that I’m old, they look like they belong to a very old possum).
She stares into my eyes like she’s just discovered magic. Blue eyes are still rare enough that even when attached to an old dude they can inspire awe. “Oooh, Fair Trade!” she exclaims. “It’s so awesome that you’re protecting the earth.”
I begin my response with a bit of a dad joke: “I think all trades should be fair.” Then I pull out my mansplaining card. “But I think fair trade actually means they don’t use child labor unless absolutely necessary.” I remind myself to Google “Fair Trade” when I get home. I don’t mention that I don’t have a problem with child labor if it’s used to produce candy. In fact, it sort of makes sense.
“Oh, you’re right. Oh my gosh, you’re so smart! Well, what are you doing for New Year’s Eve?”
Is she asking me out? No, of course not. She’s being Trader Joeish. But still, I detect an opening. Besides, this is the closest thing I’ve been to being on a date in twenty-seven and a half years.
“Well, I’ll be doing what I usually do on New Year's Eve.” I sigh deeply like it’s costing me. “I’m donating my entire Taylor Swift music library to the local children’s hospital.” Known fact: Trader Joe’s checkout people like altruism.
I’m not a good liar, so it helps a lot that I have never owned a Taylor Swift anything. Even a song. It’s not a lie if I have nothing to donate, is it?
Things seem to be going well. She’s smiling. “Wow,” she coos. “Well, that’ll be seven ninety-eight.”
For a candy bar?
I purposely use the credit card from my wallet that seems to have a bad chip in it. I’m clever that way when I’m on a Trader Joe’s date.
“Chip malfunction,” I say after an obnoxious sound spits out of the little credit card machine. “No worries,” I brag, “I have dozens more of these things.” I take my Amex card very slowly out of my bulging wallet to be sure she’s aware of the branding and the bulging. I remove the card so seductively that I’m pretty sure she’s being reminded of Rita Hayworth slipping off a sleeve (in the unlikely event she knows who Rita Hayworth is).
But then her face falls like I just produced a Bible and am about to recruit her to the world of evangelism. Another known fact: Bibles are known to succumb to spontaneous combustion the moment they enter a Trader Joe’s store.
You see, Amex stands for everything she is opposed to in life. What’s wrong with me? She’s probably redirecting ninety percent of her Trader Joe’s earnings on rent. She hates me now.
I need to find a way to recover. My mind races for answers. Oh, right! I remember now! Ask them about themselves! An old saw that never fails!
“What about you? What are you doing for New Year’s?” There! Two birds with one stone. Ask her about herself, and see if she provides a stepping stone into a world of bliss.
“Oh, me and my boyfriend are going to Savannah to watch the sunrise.”
Oh, come on. Seriously?
Looks like I have more shopping to do.
Notes
The candy bar is my invention. No such candy bars exist at Trader Joe’s. My advice: Do not look for one. Although, if you print out this post and cut out the candy bar to bring to a Trader Joe’s asking where to find it, it might be a great way to strike up a conversation with a Trader Joe’s employee. Who am I to stop you?
Good thing she didn't see your travelers checks. Instead of conjuring a boyfriend (George Glass anyone?) she'd have handed you her 800 number!