Trader Joe's in Midtown Atlanta isn't all that different from a Trader Joe's in Los Angeles. Sure, it's a bit gayer and there is no egg salad of any sort, but otherwise it's very much the same (compulsory talkativeness from the grocery clerks, skimpiness with bags, which will break before you get in the house, bells). However, the other day at the Trader Joe's in Midtown, I overheard something that was indubitably Southern. Two middle-aged ladies were perusing the fresh packaged item section, when the one, in the deepest Southern accent conceivable asked, "What a-bout fi-es-ta dip?" Speaking slowly and enunciating every syllable with a twang, fi-es-ta dip became something of the deep, dark South, a party-rousing appetizer, dank yet festive, out of place, but at the same time at home and at ease entertaining all at a ladies' Mexican themed dinner party. Honestly, though, fi-es-ta Dip, I find you scary.