Post 239: Product Recall

The mass production of food and other consumables has resulted in daily news about some item or other being recalled by the company. Hamburger is recalled for e coli contamination, children’s toys are recalled for lead-based paint, and the Solomon Islands are being recalled due to not enough life guards in their towns.

I am shocked that one of the most enjoyable shopping venues has yet to be recalled for the dangerous conditions we are exposed to there.

saw you at trader Joes tendonitis about 9 months ago – w4m

It was end of summer or early fall last year. I have fluffy brown hair, slender, can’t remember what I was wearing, maybe cutoffs.

You had longish hair, appeared to be late forties or early to mid fifties. We checked out at the same time after making eye contact earlier. You were cute and I wanted to meet you but my then boyfriend came in the store and I left feeling like I wished I could have met you, you looked so nice.

So glad Sparketta didn’t wait until a year had gone by to tell us about this horrible outbreak of tendonitis at Trader Joe’s. This being a military area, both navy and marines, people might have moved on by now.

Also, how do you have fluffy brown hair that is also slender? Thanks to my local CraigsList publications for this scintillating missed connections.

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3 thoughts on “Post 239: Product Recall

  1. Bidetta still had no idea what she wanted. She’d been walking around Trader Joe’s for an hour now, and apart from picking up a few miscellaneous items she figured she could use, plus a jar of their incredible cookie butter — because you should never leave a Trader Joe’s without cookie butter — she still couldn’t decide what she wanted to pick up for dinner. Spoiled for choice, she guessed. Not that this place had a massive selection like a proper supermarket, but it was close by and she really didn’t want to go to Kroger. She once had a bad experience with a tremendously rude bag boy at Kroger. “Paper or plastic?” he had asked. What nerve! How dare he imply that she should cover her head with a bag! And anyway, plastic was suffocation hazard, if you had to put something over your head, paper was quite obviously the way to go, so he was dangerously stupid, besides. The manager there had deemed her complaint meritless on its face but offered her a 10% off coupon for her trouble, so she stormed out in a huff, taking his stinking coupon and tearing it up as she went, leaving a trail of confetti. Was everyone there so horrible?

    Bidetta was getting riled up again. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and calmed herself down as she trundled her cart down the rheumatic disease aisle for the fifth time. She had no idea why she kept going down that aisle. Numerous people complained of developing tendonitis due to complications from going down this aisle before. She really should be avoiding it. She quickened her step and decided to go over the frozen foods section for the sixth time when she saw something she wanted very much.

    Or someone, rather. He was coming down one of the main thoroughfares toward her. He had medium-long, sandy brown hair, looked to be about middle-aged, but he was quite fit, had a commanding stature, a rugged jawline with just the right amount of manly stubble to give him that rakish rogue look, piercing blue — no, green — no, definitely blue — eyes, and just the most adorable little mole. It rode in the baby seat of his cart, its tiny, beady little black eyes sitting astride its pointy, star-shaped nose. Their eyes locked — hers and the man’s, not the mole’s. Time seemed to shift into slow motion. Every light source seemed to become oversaturated and twinkly, ringing this Adonis of a man in an ethereal aura. His hair blew back as though taken up by a stiff breeze, flowing languidly behind him; he tilted his head back slightly, turning his head slowly from side to side, letting his luxurious locks unfetter themselves and ride the wild wind as he opened his mouth slightly, coyly; the top two buttons of his pristine white dress shirt spontaneously burst open from failing to restrain his bulging pectorals revealing a glistening chest with just a hint of the six-pack he sported below. A single dark chest hair was curled up and napping between the rolling, muscly hills of his bosom. Her nostrils filled with the musky scent of Old Spice and leather. Bidetta didn’t know if she was breathing or not. It didn’t even seem to matter in this eternal Harlequin cover moment.

    Until he sneezed, anyway. A coarse, explosive sneeze that brought her crashing out of the moment. The mole was startled and made a cute squeaky noise. The man snuffled a bolus of snot that tried to escape in the blast back up his nose. Unattractive as that was, it was still the sort of thing that was completely overshadowed by everything else about him.

    But then they passed each other. Why didn’t she stop and say hello? Or even smile? She didn’t even smile at him! She was too transfixed to do anything more than stare. Oh dear, she thought. She hoped she didn’t drool. That would be incredibly embarrassing. But then he sneezed a most tumultuous, muclear sneeze. If she drooled, they were even, surely.

    Maybe she should turn around and follow. No, no, that would be too obvious, too desperate-looking. She’d have to circle round and meet up with him again as if by chance. That could be her opener. “Oh hey, funny running into you again, I saw you pass by on the other side of the store earlier.” Maybe not.

    Bidetta rolled her cart past dry goods, past toiletries, turned right down the snack aisle, then right again at the other end. She tried to keep her pace casual, both so as not to seem desperate, and also to give him time to get to the other end, or wherever it was he was going. Slowly she passed aisle after aisle, looking down each for the Greek God given flesh, trying to make it look like she was just casually looking for stuff to pick up. That wasn’t hard; she’d been doing that for the past hour already. She just had one more thing she wanted in her cart, now. In fact, she’d toss everything out of her cart just to make room for him if need be. And, she supposed, his mole.

    She was already almost at the other end of the store, in front of the frozen foods, when she spotted him. He was still at the front of the store, at one of the checkouts. Quickly — but not _too_ quickly — she swivelled her cart around and made a bee-line for the same checkout. By the time she got there, he was already putting his bags in his cart and getting ready to leave. Blast! Too late! She couldn’t go chasing after him _now_. She’d appear far too desperate. No, she’d have to let him go. But surely he must live around here, right? He seemed to know his way around the store. He’d never seen him before but maybe he was new to the area. Maybe she’d just have to come back here more often, hoping to bump into him again. Yes, that’s what she’d do. Trader Joe’s was about to see a lot more of her now. She was going to end up with a lot of cookie butter.

    And then all at once, as if everything came together in a flash of inspiration, she knew what she wanted for dinner. Hot dogs.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Nine months? Did Sparkette just escape from her crock-pot boyfriend?

    Since the nearest Trader Joe’s to me is 50 miles away, I don’t get there very often. I haven’t tried their tendonitis; is it free-range?

    I did find some bread there once that looked like Arnold Schwartzenegger: Aisle B, back.

    Liked by 1 person

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