Foiled TD at TJ's

Overheard at the Trader Joe's on Brannan at 11:12 a.m. today. (Him - Filipino American in a Ricky Martin sweatshirt and big silver wrap around glasses. Her - African American woman in a Hollister t-shirt, motorcycle boots and wallet on a chain.

Her: Dude, we still need to replenish the bottom shelf. Hand me some more.

Him: (Hands on hips) I know I'm pretty femme, but I still know how to pitch a football. (Throws a six-count package of garlic naan.)

Junk Thief: (Picks up two $.79 each grapefruits)

Him: (In a girlish, cheerleader scream as he looses his balance, falls backwards, knocks several dozen grapefruit on the floor, lands his butt on my shoes.) Oh, sometimes I don't even realize my own strength!

Her: Dipshit, you pitch a baseball; you toss a football. Stop fucking around and hand me the rest of the naan. I'm almost ready for my break.

I always feel the universe is out of balance when I go more than two weeks without a trip to Trader Joe's. I'd not been since early December in order to avoid crowds, especially those getting last minute XXXL mark downs at Nordstrom Rack that shares the same parking lot. Some might critique it as a big box store, but then Whole Foods is based in Texas, while they are headquartered in South Pasadena, just a stone's throw away from the John Birch Society and Blue Boy and Pinky at the Huntington Museum. Pasadena, I've heard it said, is just like mid-America, only more so. I always find it comforting to go there, a movie set version of the sort of streets where I grew up.

Best song ever written about a shopping experience can be found here on Jennifer Terran's Cruel. I've yet to be aware of Albertson's or Safeway inspiring such a ditty.