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By Joe Fries
The brief sense of dull normalcy I was enjoying evaporated the second he strutted through the door. I knew there would be trouble.
He had a bit of pep in those white sneakers. Then, with hair slicked back and a large gold chain dangling around his neck, he smiled at me. One of those cocksure grins that smacks of ego and machismo.
So I returned that smile with one of my own, though with a hint of a snarl.
Suddenly, the big door rolled open. Chaos reigned.
It was Sunday at 9:58 a.m. and Costco had just opened two minutes early.
Costco absolutely fascinates me. It lies at a strange societal junction where thrift and consumerism collide, and the results are oddly satisfying.
I’m not too far removed from my university days when the excesses of our capitalist society were exposed and roundly decried. Who needs a giant SUV? Who needs a 5,000-square-foot house? Capitalist pigs, that’s who!
On the other hand, buying oil filters by the dozen or sauerkraut by the gallon reduces the need for packaging and is cheaper in the long run. Both are planet-friendly ideas and hardly the sort of things that consumerism bashers can bash.
But there’s another element at play here, and that is Costco as a status symbol.
Sure there are the Byzantine membership requirements, but just about anyone who wants a card can get one. Even I have one. Not that I’m rich or anything – median, maybe – but one must achieve a certain economic level before passing through those giant sliding doors, beneath the blast from the overhead heaters and past the bored-looking card checkers.
Exhibit A: My beloved and I bought three items on Sunday: coffee, dog food and bread. That set us back $64. Not a word of a lie. Sure, we’re set until 2017, but that’s a lot of dough for three items. Case closed.
Later, as three guys helped me muscle the 500-pound bag of dog food out to my car, I walked past the place where a mere 15 minutes earlier I had my showdown with Mr. Wonderful.
Like I said, I knew he would be trouble. Sure, he played the part of an amiable senior citizen when he shuffled in with those white orthopedic sneakers. His silver hairs whipped back across his bald pate and a gaudy crucifix around his neck as he flashed a grandfatherly smile at me before checking out my girlfriend and lining up his cart beside mine.
Shaken from my reverie, in which I wondered how the hell I became so dull and normal that I would line up at Costco early on Sunday so I could hand over a wheelbarrow of cash without waiting too long in line, I determined not to let him beat me inside.
Then the big door rolled opened. Chaos reigned. I was trampled – by the old man, his old friend, three old ladies, two goats and a few cougars of the Lululemon-wearing variety – all of them smashing their carts and cackling as they crashed by.
I hung back and let them go. To hell with them, I thought, I’m way too normal for this. Once inside, I headed saw straight for the tire department. I love how it smells. Is that normal?
joe@kelowna.com
250-575-4303
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No, Joe, it’s not normal. That’s what makes this column such a pleasure.
Great descriptions and surprise showdown at the end. You made my lunch-hour reading (I still have 45 minutes — got anything else?).
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Perhaps the best writing I’ve witnessed in K-Town. Well done Mr. Frites (the best ones are at . . . ?)
Do go on,
Jamie Maw
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Keep up the good work Joe. I have a problem paying a fee to get into a store to spend hundreds. The reason they have memberships is so you will keep shopping at Costco, it’s like buying a gym pass. You will feel guilty not using it.
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Ah how I love Costco. If we’re feeling slightly hungry but not quite ready for lunch then we can stroll through the isles, see how much food we don’t need, and eat all the samples of thing we would never buy. Fun times.
And I’ve never payed for a Costco card in my life, yay for having a husband who has nice work benefits!
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