Dear Trader Joes Supermarket,
I’ve had it with you. I can’t drive anywhere near your store on the weekend. Your shoppers clog up the roadway and make traffic flow slower than the blood through Louie Anderson’s veins. And should I want to go to another store in the plaza, well, I can just forget about it. There’s never any parking; every spot is filled with cars sporting VERMONT stickers and SUV’s covered with “Anti-War” stickers. Please.
The thing is, I’ve been in your store a few times, and I’ve always been less than impressed. So I’m wondering, exactly what do you put in your granola that makes people rush through your doors like cattle? Do you have clowns in there that juggle and serve kettle corn? Is there a topless bartender pouring shots of tequila down an ice luge over in the dairy section?
I just don’t get it. Your produce section is skimpy, and what IS there looks wilted and rancid. Your bananas are rubbery, your limes are brown, and your eggs are cracked. If you don’t eat your berries within 24 hours, they’re covered in mold like a 5th grade science project. Oddly enough, you try to maintain a “unique health food store” image, yet 65% of the food you sell is FROZEN and is loaded with preservatives and salt. And don’t even get me started on your revolting crab in a can.
Fine, your Joe-Joe cookies are delicious. And I hear you sell your, uh, nuts really cheap. But I don’t care. I see that huge, long Walt Disney World line over by your registers and there’s no way I’m standing there for 25 minutes just to save $1.45.
AND, as if all that wasn’t enough, your retarded, Hawaiian-shirt wearin’ employees are always ringing that annoying COW BELL in my ear every 4 seconds like they’re fucking Quasimodo. I’m proud to say, however, that I think I’ve finally managed to decode those mysterious bell ringing sequences:
One ring: We are incompetent and need help, there are too many fat women here who just won’t leave without their three buck chuck. Open another register, pronto! They’re staging a mutiny!
Two rings: Captain, I need more money in my register, because I had to issue so many refunds on our gross, rotten products.
Three bells: Oh shit, there’s a bearded hippy in a tie-dye shirt choking on a kashi bar over here, send help ASAP.
Dear Trader Joes, I wouldn’t shop in your store for free. Truth be told, you’re a bunch of posers and hypocrites… pretendng to care about the Earth and its inhabitants, and showing pride in “your brand.” My ass. When are you going to stop buying eggs from caged, mistreated hens? And just how much PLASTIC and STYROFOAM does one need protecting their squash? Not to mention that your entire brand is just a big front; you sell Aldi’s food with your packaging on it. But we’re not supposed to know that.
What the hell is 3 buck chuck anyway?
Jill
2 Comments
April 29, 2008 at 2:45 am
brilliant. love from santa cruz on this one!
July 31, 2008 at 11:55 am
I love the 3 buck chuck reference. But the price has gone up, yeah? We used to call it 2 buck chuck. Oh, poor Charles Shaw must be very upset that his wine is synonymous with cheapness.