Let’s Talk About “The Job Lots”

Now, here’s the kicker…if you think I’m referring to Big Lots, this may not be the blog for you. Though I think by this point in time, everyone is well aware that this is GRB. And if not, welcome to The Gorgeous Ranting Brunette. The reason for this post is actually to give it up to the only store I go to by choice. What I mean is - OK, sometimes you need to go get a prescription from the pharmacy or Espolon/High Noon Teas, which may in fact also be a prescription, or like, I don’t know, for me, it’s usually “can you go and get me a vape?”, which I guess for a nicotine addict (though they used to just be called “Platinum Joe Camel Holders”) that may also be a prescription…but for the most part, I hate stores. AKA sometimes you need to go to a fucking store and leave the house. Why the fuck would I want to be around a bunch of screaming kids and people with germs and fluorescent lights? There’s literally nothing in any store I want unless it’s a store with neat, retro games with stains on the carpet, or candy with Red Dye 40 so it tastes fine. If it’s bright, loud, and has exposed wood or Edison lightbulbs, guess what? I don’t want to drink or shop there. Don’t let me get on my soap box about the dying seediness of any given city in this country because this is supposed to be a funny post. Right, the store I’m talking about is Ocean State Job Lot. And for those of you who are unaware, let’s explore together. You can be Dorothy Gale from Kansas and I’ll be your…well actually I just knocked into some discount umbrellas behind the Halloween decorations in said Ocean State…SO PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE GUINEA BEHIND THE CURTAIN, or in this case, knocked over discount umbrellas and some bootleg Halloween thing making that spooky 90’s ghost noise.

Now, that little URL does not do it justice, but consider it your syllabus for this post. I was on the phone last night with a very good of mine from NYC, Adam, who didn’t know what “The Job Lots” was. And for the sake of conversation, the store is called Ocean State Job Lot. I call it “The Job Lots”…as in like your Italian grandmother or your mother calling it “The Facebooks”, “The Goings-Ons”, “The DeMoulas ” (supermarket chain in the northeast, not worth getting into and bad regional example but hilarious to me). It’s a GRB joke, it’s not a real thing people call it, so don’t be going around and calling it that like you’re doing the Blood finger thing like you’re being a fresh 3rd grader in Catholic school in between paper football games.

I often joke about the nostalgia of going into a Bradlee’s or a KMart before the initial shopping gentrification of Target and Khol’s. Like when Target and Khol’s came into a town or city, thus replacing either an aging predecessor or a regionally bought-out chain, it was thought to be like a “we made it”. As John Pinette would say “nay nay”, or in this case, you don’t realize what you have until every fucking square inch of this fucking country has been replaced with the same five fucking stores, restaurants, aesthetics, and places to shit after your stomach can’t handle $22 cheeseburgers on a tandem bike stool while someone’s screaming baby is wondering why his or her stupid ass parents in their Patagonia bullshit-ass outfit forced it to go to a brewery. And to be fair, back in the day, you would just bring your kid to the dive bar, let everyone know it was your kid if it could walk (as in let one of the TVs have Tom & Jerry on) and everyone would have it run drink orders and Keno tickets to the bar in exchange for $1 tips and Shirley Temples and/or cranberry juice with five limes (I was that kid, and that was my order). Breweries to me are just strip clubs to straight white parents sick of parenting after six months - you know you really shouldn’t be there, and the drinks are overpriced and shitty, but it sure as fuck feels better then being at home dealing with the consequences of your actions.

Now, what I always joke most about a place like KMart or Bradlees is the simplicity of it. Target and Khol’s were put into neighborhoods to make towns and cities that looked like 1992 but didn’t realize it, and now think that they had leveled up. They 100% targeted these areas. Oh, wood-paneled walls? Mom & Pop restaurants where you could still smoke? A guy in your neighborhood living at his mom’s basement with an ‘86 IROC-Z? I could go on, but then I’d have to admit what year it really was and nobody wants that. Yes, these places were a little more expensive but they really changed the aesthetic of department stores. But there is a very specific early ‘90s memory of going to Bradlee’s with your mom to pick out a toy for a birthday party and the whole store smelled of plastic pool toys even though nobody you knew (but one year, I got this guy and it was sickkkkk), or nobody in your neighborhood could afford a pool, nevermind have one, and Madonna’s hit single “Take a Bow” was playing and typically you might be able to get 25 cents to get a sticky hand from the machines at the check out, and yes, they did have a fantastic food court. This was before people felt a need to be something they weren’t. Towns and cities had their good parts and bad parts but for the most part, had their individual charm. We lost that a long time ago.

Enter The Job Lots.

I won’t say this a conspiracy theory but this store began in, well clearly, Rhode Island - North Kingston to be exact. Though in my opinion, it should be, “Where Hookers Were Once Appreciated” but I digress. The reason I say this is a conspiracy theory is because since the franchise expanded, they seem to be in predominately in Italian-American cities and towns, though looking through the store list, I didn’t know they had Guineas in Vermont. There’s a joke in there about taking your shoes off in the house and them not wearing any to begin with. ANYWAY. So my friend Adam currently lives in Jersey, and immediately, I suggested going to the South Plainfield store, specifically on a Tuesday around 2:30-4pm. And he asked why. And I said, because you’ll see GUARANTEED (easier to bet this concept than any sports book or card game), ALL ITALIAN MIND YOU - two women in their early 50’s to mid 60’s who are only in aisle two but have been there for at least an hour and know more about where to find something better than anyone up front, at least two dads by themselves who have already been to Home Depot and are showered and ready for dinner and just need to throw on a change of clothes but will shower anyway at 4:30pm again for the dinner special at such and such a place because “the deals are phenomenal”, and a confused hispanic man who realizes that the lawn care section is above and beyond what he can get anywhere else and you can tell he’s growing into the community, God bless him. And you know he’s turning into the Guinea dad, because he’s by himself on a Tuesday afternoon. Like he’s fully assimilated into the Italian-American, retiree culture. And I love it.

This store has kept a late ‘80’s/’90’s aesthetic that you just can’t find anywhere else. Oh, and I should mention, fantastic snack aisle, actually all aisles. They have everything but not half-assed nonsense. Like their seasonal section…out of this world. Quality patio furniture, snowblowers, snow-tubin’ tubes that double as summer fun for the cool uncle with the boat, and their pet aisle?! Perfect for any barky ass little dog we all have. But here’s the thing. Guineas, ginzos, love a good quality product, regardless of if you know the brand. It’s amazing - picture a beach chair and I picture this or my dad’s choice - I really don’t give a fuck. They’ll buy two because you never know who may need one once the temperature gets above 48 degrees. Oh, but back to the snack aisle. This is important. The snacks are all delicious but you will not see a brand you know. And I don’t mean like Dollar Tree where suddenly there’s a Pringle’s guy on a package of like peanut butter. A little confusing, but you know the logo, but don’t know why he’s now selling peanut butter. And you buy it because it makes your brain laugh. This is a brand you have never seen. But Q.U.A.L.I.T.Y. which is why it’s Italian-American friendly. Something something back of truck something. Hey you said it, not me. The snack aisle takes up an oddly disproportionate part of the store. So picture normal aisles, and low and behold, at one L shape in the back right corner is the outdoor furniture/pool section, and in the front left, is the same L shape but snacks. Now, I call this “Old Country Gold”. AKA Dad’s hunting for deals in the later afternoon from the hairy countries. These men love their lawns but also appreciate snacks while running errands. The Job Lots purposely knows when these men will get hungry and will need to check out. Because 2:30pm, right by the check out counter, knowing they have an early bird dinner, with some simple lawn care items, treats for "Bella” (the MinPin he didn’t want but now can’t live without), and some nice solar powered lights for the pool area because Gianna has her graduation coming up…the schematics, you can’t argue with greatness. And yes those two women are now in aisle four which is automotive, five through seven is seasonal — so since they’ve been in the store so long, it’s changes from patio furniture to Halloween decorations. They know their demographic.

OK so now you grabbed some items and you’re ready to check out. I mean, I get it, as much as you want to continue to live in this dream of Bill Clinton playing the saxophone on late night talk shows and the existence of Butter Finger BBs, you remember you need a $23 margarita at a place with uncomfortable stools, shitty, green hot sauce, and Edison bulbs. Here’s the best part. Everyone on their register knows what the fuck to do. Everyone is friends with one another trading inside jokes, except that one grouchy manager who definitely would raise his hand and ask if there was homework for the night in school. But everyone would have a good work flow, and be cool and funny, but not fake or rude. And I think that’s what we lack when we check out nowadays. I don’t know how to explain it. I want people to have fun at work, no matter what they do. Everyone is so forced to be whatever it is their company wants them to be, and that’s why people hate commercials or chains or going shopping. That’s why there’s this weird aesthetic of not dive bars pretending to be dive bars. Pro tip: if you can drink from a glass there without getting a stomach virus and don’t have to pee in an alley, that’s not a dive bar, just a place you’re drinking. I’m getting side-tracked. But checking out is a breeze. And you laugh and gossip and talk trash about the weird person in front of you. And you really don’t notice until way later and you’re lying in bed and you’re like wow, that felt like something I experienced many moons ago, while also feeling normal. And now I’m uncomfortable.

And that’s basically the end. I love this store so much. But always go mid-week Tues afternoon. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a receipt from them either…

Oh. And this post’s charity is really special to me. My sister picked it, and it’s called Best Buddies. The main goal of Best Buddies is to end the stigma in society of people with intellectual and physical disabilities - specifically folks with developmental disabilities, Williams syndrome, autism, and more specifically, special needs people that were once ignored and are actually rad and high functioning. The goal is to connect these great people with supported living, work, and peer mentorship situations.

Side note: When I say things like the “R” or “F” word, it’s to take a dig at people who are awful people; it’s never taking a dig at the special needs or gay community. I know it comes off sometimes as inappropriate or uncaring, but I use those slurs to hurt mean people. Like finance bros or people who don’t tip. That’s why I get called the “C” word”. I digress.