A Page Six spy at a Target store in
Los Angeles says that on Saturday Angelina Jolie took her daughters Shiloh and Vivienne to the cafe inside
— but the family was disheartened to find the location did not serve hot dogs.
“The kids were disappointed, so they all left,” said our man in aisle five.
Added the shopping source at the megamarket’s Eagle Rock location: “One weird thing is that Angie was
totally bundled up in a big sweater, and it was probably 85 or 90 degrees out.”
via Page Six
Angelina Jolie knew this Target like the back of her UN convoy. Its ins and outs, ebbs and
flows, graphic tees and discount DVDs and generic furniture, the way the dusty wheels of certain red carts
would squeak on the floor when it had just been bleached. Aisle 7? School supplies. Aisle 12? Kitchen
utensils. Aisle 36? Nice try, there is no aisle 36. She smiled with her eyes. You couldn’t fool Ang
when it came to this particular Eagle Rock Target, which she still insisted on pronouncing with a French
accent: Tar-jay.
After all, they’d been coming her for years, in secret, to feed Shiloh and Vivienne’s seemingly
insatiable desire for Tarjay-brand hot dogs. It verged on an addiction. Locally-sourced Russian caviar and
Brad’s famous New Orleans jambalaya bedamned, sometimes these kids just wanted a cheap tube of factory
farmed meat that’d been perspiring on that rotating spits for hours, if not days. They deserved this
escape, this delicious token of proletariat pleasure. It was good for the soul.
That afternoon was like any other. She’d opted for her standard disguise—"big
sweater"—and entered holding Shiloh and Vivienne’s hands. Usually, they threw people off their
scent by acting like normal patrons, pretending to shop and sometimes even buying random things before
eventually circling around to the restaurant, again. It would be suspicious, she thought, to make a beeline
for the hot dogs. Plus, this gave her the opportunity to weed out any spies.
Angelina took a red cart and started rolling past the aisles towards the back of the store. She could feel
Shiloh and Vivienne’s eyes lingering towards the hot dogs, sense the boiled-meat-water smell wafting into
their little nostrils. Poor kids. They just loved Tarjay-brand hot dogs so much. But they knew the
drill.
Her head on a swivel, she checked for spies. It was almost like Mr. and Mrs. Smith, except instead
of hitmen it was paparazzi, and instead of murder the objective was eating Tarjay-brand hot dogs. Oh, how
vigilantly Brad would check for Page Six Tarjay scum in his equally big sweater! The thought nearly moved
her to tears. She pressed on.
Old lady buying sunglasses…
Teenager sifting through underwear…
Man in groucho glasses with a pen and paper in aisle 5…
So far, so good. Finally, she pulled the cart up to the restaurant cashier.
“Three hot dogs, please,” she said.
The cashier stared back at her blankly.
“M’am, we, uh, don’t sell hot dogs, anymore.”
Angelina put her hand to her mouth; Shiloh fell to the floor.
Gulping, she asked: “You don’t sell hot dogs, anymore?”
“No. Now we sell salad and stuff.”
Vivienne was near tears.
“Salad?!” She exclaimed. “Stuff?!”
Disheartened, Angelina returned the cart and led her children out of the store. Fuck Tarjay, she
thought. From now on, it's just Target.
