Calculated Grit
I approach the site with courage and determination. My bag is strapped over my shoulder, snugly reassuring me. The paper in my hand has the instructions and the purpose of the adventure. I tug and push and pull to get my vehicle free and rolling. The beep on the machine welcomes me, along with hordes of other shoppers, into the cavernous warehouse that is Costco.
The maneuvering begins immediately: left, right, or into the lady in front of me, slowly browsing the lotion display. A close miss, a short “excuse me,” and I have 16 feet of open space ahead. Moving quickly to avoid the family group of six traveling in a wide berth, I approach my first goal - coffee. OH, DRAT! The coffee has been moved, the most dreaded tactic Costco can make. The guessing game can be a huge frustration, as enormous as this warehouse, but that will get me nowhere, so I quickly direct my efforts to item #2 - yogurt.
Certain of its location, I begin the journey, but the detours are complicated. $9.00 skorts in pretty blues and greens. $12.00 button-down shirts for summer evenings. A customer’s flatbed near the cooler holds so much snack food, it must be for a busy concession stand at a local ball game. Deftly, I cruise to the correct cooler door and swoop in to gather my box of 24 yogurts. Score one for the shopper! But now I am blocked in by a cart containing two cereal boxes, driven by a 4’ 10” octogenarian who cannot decide whether she needs four boxes of butter. Should I just tell her a woman her age should not buy green bananas, let alone butter for a year?
Now to find the olive oil. With any luck, they have moved the coffee to the same aisle. There is a holdup at the tasting station that smells delicious, but I must not give in. I try to keep moving forward, but two kids with grandparents butt right in and grab the last four paper cups of goodness, causing me to come within inches of running over the server's foot. No “Excuse me,” from the kids or me!
Olive oil in hand, it’s onto the produce cooler room. This is a bold step, but the strawberries are such a deal that it’s worth the effort. There is no time to inspect the cartons for the best berries; just grab and go, or be run over. I don’t want to be the 5’ 7” septuagenarian blocking traffic.
The toilet paper and Kleenex department is not crowded, so I slow down a bit to choose the right brand and ply. The moment is ruined by the beeping sound of a forklift barreling down on me. That explains the ‘not crowded’. Scooting out of the way leads me to an aisle I have never traveled before. What is this stuff for, I wonder, lost in confusion? But as I head down the way, a light shines before me, illuminating, you guessed it, the coffee! Oh JOY! I will be able to leave soon!
Finding the end of the self-serve checkout is a depressing job. It’s always fascinating how long it is, any time of any day. But I am determined to make it through with a smile on my face - until the oblivious, overloaded shopper cuts the line. What to do? Do I tell them that the line extends into the bakery department near the back of the store? The glum-looking gentleman behind me does the honors by promptly redirecting the confused patron to the back of the line.
The line moves quickly enough, my items scan with ease, and with only five people in front of me waiting for the receipt check, I feel the breeze of the great outdoors blowing through the open escape doors. That’s when I remembered I did not grind my coffee! The thought of going back in is debilitating, but I must have coffee tomorrow morning. Will the checkout lady let me back into the grinders? Is my face pitiful enough? Yes, kindness wins!
The joy of loading the trunk with my prizes fades quickly as I struggle to exit the parking lot without dents to the car or injury to the person weaving the overloaded flatbed left and right up the car lane. Staring at the boxes of chips piled high on the cart makes me hungry. As I turn towards home, I anticipate purchasing a double bag on my next trip!
Many people love warehouse shopping; others deeply dislike it.
Where do you land?
Bit by bit, that’s all she wrote…