Dear Solitary Reader:
Today I went to Costco. I don’t know what I was thinking by going to Costco so early in the new year, usually it takes at least a couple of months for me to work up the mental fortitude to enter such a place; but a new year brings new challenges and when my wife said: Do you wanna? I said sure.
Now don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against Costco. As a matter of fact, as a die hard materialist I love Costco. If I was single and Costco was a girl, I’d marry Costco. I could go into that store and say: “I’ll take one of everything!” and only end up returning a couple of things in the end.
What I don’t like about Costco are the people. Not the people in the store – they’re never less than friendly and they always seem so interested in whether or not I managed to find everything I was looking for; all the women have slightly tight shirts and all the men have a welcoming degree of 5:00 o’clock shadow (that type of shadow that says “Look at me, I’m scruffy but approachable!”)
The people in question are the other shoppers. These are the people that once they get in the door have to stop, almost in awe, and behold the very STUFF that is Costco as if they could see it all from the portal. I’ve never been almost run over by so many people while having the urge to run over so many people.
They are as acolytes of the god COSTCO; they worship this dark immortal by roaming endlessly through his aisles paying homage to his goods (in a non-sexual way though “paying homage to his goods” is a rather awesome sexual metaphor that shall henceforth be used by me in (in)appropriate circumstances). Every now and then one is sacrificed; one who goes into that far drink pallet aisle and is never heard from again.
Honestly, I’m not sure what happens to the higher brain functions of these people once they enter the Temple of the Materialist: it is not uncommon for carts to be left in the middle of the aisles (sometimes with children in them) so that none shall pass while they are inspecting a Speedo swimsuit in the middle of bloody winter. People who outside of Costco, mere moments ago, were physics professors turn into lemmings following a tidal wave of other shoppers.
And as if the traffic wasn’t bad enough, at the end of every third aisle there are samplers peddling their wares. What do these people get out of sampling anyway? Do they get a bonus product for every time someone stops at their stall? More likely what they actually get is to keep their jobs.
The oversized shopping carts don’t help either. Costco assumes that because you are coming to a store that sells big items in big packages you need a big cart. But when three people are trying to get down the same aisle steering these land yachts and one of them all of a sudden has to stop and check out the 48 pound bag of Cheddar Goldfish crackers(the snack that smiles back goldfish) you have yourself a potential pile up.
Maybe the problem is me. I am the Indiana Jones of shopping; I don’t spend any extra time in the Temple other than to find what I came for and get the hell out of there. It’s not just Costco either – I am the stereotypical man shopper. I need butter. I go hunt butter in store. Throw spear at butter. Bring butter home. But its probably a sad comment on my personalities that I’d sometimes prefer to live in a world without people (well, some people anyway).
Honestly the best thing about Costco are the parking spaces outside. Those are awesome parking spaces. They give you enough room to actually open your doors. It’s like a parking spot with leg room.
So do me a favour, Solitary Reader, the next time you’re about to enter the Temple of Elemental Evil remember to bring your scroll of mental resistance… known as your shopping list.