Are All of the Trader Joe's Employees in Love With You?

And is convenience killing community?

When I was pregnant with my first child five years ago, I was terribly nauseous. Every morning, I’d lurch forward out of sleep, hurriedly shuffle to the bathroom, and throw up. It was not pleasant, it was not reserved for the morning (like you’d assume “morning sickness” would be), and it did not wane after the first trimester. Fellow nausea moms reading this right now can probably smell peppermint and taste ginger, so I’ll stop myself there.

Pregnancy causes some weird aversions, even to things you formerly enjoyed. Clementines tasted like popcorn to me, and chocolate, which I’ve loved all my life, tasted sort of bitter. The audacity of hormones, I tell you! But the most aversive thing was grocery stores. The plethora of visible foods, that faint “grocery store” smell, interacting with other human beings, I could hardly make my way from the frozen section to the produce without audibly gagging. My saving grace was Instacart, an app-based grocery delivery service with a $10/month subscription. It was well worth the cash to avoid glancing at an inopportune deli counter. And you know what? Two kids and five years later, I still use it.

During the pandemic, I searched for Trader Joe’s on the app, probably looking to replenish my Hold the Cone cache, but it wasn’t there. That’s when I learned that Trader Joe’s doesn’t offer grocery delivery (even curbside), or online sales in any form. Here’s what they have to say about it:

We do not offer curbside pickup or delivery, and we don’t work with third party delivery services like Instacart or Dumpling because they can’t match our outstanding in-store value and shopping experience. We set up our stores with care, finding just the right Crew and creating a rewarding shopping experience, full of discovery and welcome. After considering the options, we're still just big ‘ole fans of the neighborhood grocery store where we can say hello when you're looking around wondering - "what's for dinner?"

They have a point. The in-store shopping at experience at Trader Joe’s is chipper and borderline—if not wholeheartedly—flirtatious. I know I’m not the only person who’s left a little confused and rosy-cheeked. This is not a complaint. Just take it from my friend Alyssa, who recently voice memo-ed me:

“Remember Hot Guy Ethan at Trader Joe’s? I literally refer to him to my husband as Hot Guy Ethan. He was so flirtatious today, he winked at me while scanning my salsa. It’s got to be a part of their employee training, they just make you feel like they’re paying attention, like somebody cares about you and is asking how your day is. And I think as a mom…maybe they just know…like moms are shopping for groceries and they just want to feel cared about? Whatever. God bless Trader Joe’s.”

Trader Joe’s is very intentional about their in-store customer experience. Whether or not their employee training manuals include things like “make people feel desired” remains to be seen, but deep eye contact aside, most shoppers have a positive experience, and it keeps them coming back. And maybe it’s because the experience, which feels much more “neighborhood grocer” than most other chain offerings, speaks to something we crave as members of an increasingly distanced society.

Instacart, along with many other convenience-based apps, are marketed as time-savers, but they also remove opportunities for interaction with people in our neighborhoods and communities.

DoorDash enables a stranger in your community to bring you drunken noodles within 45 minutes, but it’s unlikely you’ll ever get to know the delivery person, let alone the restaurant servers, cooks, or owners. Uber enables a stranger to give you a ride to the airport at 6 am, but you’ll likely never see them again. Disclaimer here: it’s still possible, if not likely, that you’ll have a life-altering conversation during the drive. For better or for worse.

But it goes beyond food delivery and ride sharing—there are pediatric care apps, veterinary care apps, reading apps, skills-based learning apps. Apps, apps, apps! Google, ChatGPT, Pinterest, YouTube, Amazon, all replace in-person interactive experiences.

What did we do before this?

Grocery shopping happened in person, or if you needed something in a pinch, you’d ask a neighbor. Dining, even with takeout or delivery, required some level of interaction to order the food, even if you ate it at home. Rides were given by friends, family, neighbors. Medical care was hands-on, and took place at the medical office. Same goes with the vet. If you wanted to learn a language, you’d attend a class, or hire a tutor, or visit the library to check out a copy of Rosetta Stone: Español. Instead of a search engine, we might have called our parents for an answer to the difference between a checking and savings account, or the correct ratio of swapping fresh garlic for granulated garlic. If we needed to hang some artwork, we’d probably go to the hardware store and pick up some nails and eye screws and wire. Now we can Amazon it, or Instacart it, or DoorDash it (I think).

There’s a lot to love about convenience. I have most of the aforementioned apps on my phone right now. I think of people who aren’t physically or mentally able to be mobile or interactive, and the ways these apps have likely enriched their lives. Some of them save you money—like borrowing audiobooks electronically versus purchasing them, or watching videos on how to renovate your bathroom instead of spending money to hire professionals.

But there are costs when it comes to community. An app-filled existence draws us away from one another, and if there isn’t something to replace those gaps in interaction and relationship, will we just keep drifting apart forever?

I think about the times I’ve been tempted to send a DoorDash gift card to a friend who’s recently given birth, versus taking the time to prepare a nourishing meal and dropping it off at their house. You miss out on the act of serving someone, the sacrifice of your time, the chance to give a hug, or come inside for a bit to clean up their kitchen or fold some laundry on the couch.

I think about the recent wildfires in Los Angeles, and the benefits of being connected with your neighbors. Connections that are often overlooked when we never need to borrow a cup of sugar, or ask for a ride to the airport. I recall reading an account from someone who checked in on her elderly neighbor when the evacuation orders went out at 4:00 am. He hadn’t been aware because he was hard of hearing and couldn’t hear the alarm go off in his sleep. Community and connection can be a matter of life and death in very real ways.

As with most things, the answers to these conundrums aren’t cut-and-dried. I don’t know if I’m ready to say goodbye to Instacart, but maybe I can try to opt for a farmer’s market instead of a delivery order when I’m able. Maybe I can be less sheepish about asking to borrow something from a neighbor, and be generous when a similar favor is asked of me. Maybe I can learn the names of the librarians at our local branch, or the baristas at our local coffee shop. Change is incremental, but I do believe that the more we get out into our communities, the better off we will collectively be.

Until next week,

Taylor