Okay, I give up. I fought it for a long time, mostly because I liked Busch's so much and because it's just so dang far to drive all the way across town, but I'm a Trader Joe's convert now. Are you happy? Well? Are you? Will you stop pestering me now? Good.
I called AAA in early January and had them do me up one of those trip-tik deals so I could find my way all the way over there to scope out the tradin' at Joe's. The locals had said how excellent the food was, how healthfully delicious and inexpensive, how wonderful the frozen stuff tastes, how the whole experience of shopping there had profoundly changed their lives, blah, blah, blah.
My sister got in on the act too, prodding me from California, but I'm pretty sure she gets a kick-back from Joe. At Thanksgiving we stayed at her house and got to try out ALL of the entire line of Trader Joe's hand soaps, hand lotions, bath gels, face scrub, body lotions, room deodorizers, shampoos, conditioners and of course, food items, since my sister's house has been fully stocked by Joe himself. I think she's living in some kind of a test house, like a Nielsen family or something, but she won't tell me. She must have had to sign something. Anyway, it totally looks like a real house except that every single item in it came from Trader Joe's.
The one thing nobody mentioned, which would have sold me a lot sooner, is how doggone nice they are over there. Everyone I encountered was nice. I mean, super nice. Zingerman's nice. Enthusiastic. Thrilled to help me select bread for the fine art of toasting. Delighted to explain what the brass bells are for. And so excited about mozzarella & goat cheese that I faked some additional cheese enthusiasm of my own, just to be polite.
I checked out the restrooms, tried the coffee, helped myself to plenty of free samples, and nearly wept purchasing a bag of SEVEN gorgeous lemons for 2 bucks. The only thing lacking? No magazines at the checkout. I knew there had to be a catch! I just had to... stand there. Waiting. In line. (Behind one person, for the friendliest cashier on the planet.) I guess from now on I'll be like all my friends and have no idea what crazy thing Brittany has gone done or who's gotten divorced/remarried/is having an affair/pregnant with an alien's baby/gained a hundred pounds. I suppose I won't know when Angelina's baby gets born or what Brad designed for Baby's First Tat. Maybe I'll just have to sneak over to Busch's every once in a while for a junky magazine fix, you know, under the guise of picking up some cigarettes, Drano, and baby formula because you can't get everything at Joe's.