June 15th, 2004:
Bulk Shopping
Dearest Mary:
Do they have warehouse shopping in the land
of the midnight sun? I didn't think so. Here in the Boston suburbs
we pay an annual membership fee to shopping clubs, such as Costco,
so that we can buy huge quantities of stuff we don't need.
For example: I recall something about the
elasticity of supply and demand from freshman economics. Well, Costco
represents the bungee cord of supply and demand. The supply is endless
and stacked 30 feet high. The demand is so intense they actually
have people checking your membership card before they will admit
you with the forklift-sized shopping cart that you will struggle
to control for the rest of your "shopping experience".
Why do I belong to such a place? Because
I have been shamed into it by friends whom I otherwise respect and
whose company I enjoy. Also because I once held a party where I
needed 17 lbs of M&Ms and Costco fit the bill. On the plus side,
Costco sells books (so the friends' argument goes) at great prices.
True, but the prices are lower than what it costs to print the books
so this could herald the end of the bookstore as we know it, but
not to worry. This is the American Way.
People go to Costco for lunch. Even yours
truly. I'll be starving and ready to fight my way in with my forklift
to buy ONLY 3 things: a huge bag of coffee beans, 1 BBQ chicken,
and a case of Gatorade (neon sugar water that my teenager must have
or he'll be cut from the Lacrosse team). But first I have to negotiate
the Waterford crystal (I don't have any and I WANT some - wait:
no, I don't) and the palm-sized digital camera -- only $399 and
I need it because the one we have is too big, that's why I never
use it and also because I HATE digital cameras…
Me: If I buy that camera it will solve ALL
my problems.
Me again: Really?
Still me: Yes, yes it will.
And again: What if I buy something else,
like this pack of 8 dozen AAA batteries?
The part of me that is still functioning: Oh for crissake buy the
BBQ chicken already and get OUT OF HERE.
But back to lunch: There are stations set
up all over the warehouse staffed by little old folks who should
be retired in South Carolina but instead are forced to wear paper
hair nets and plastic gloves to scoop bite sized portions of stuff
with tomato sauce into mini paper cups. People stand around blockading
the serving areas with their massive carts loaded with toilet paper
(you gotta wonder) and I control my temper until I can sidle up
to one such serving station and snag my paper cup of tofu burger.
Disappointing. I move on until I have sampled every item available
including things I would never put in my mouth, such as tuna casserole
with mushroom soup.
I conclude that I have just participated
in the Decline of Civilization As We Know It and resolve, as I head
toward the check-out, NOT to be tempted by the 3 lb jar of shitake
mushrooms or the extra long down pillow or the 4 pack container
of goldfish crackers that is larger than my dog.
Dimly I recall from the same economics course
that 2 plus 2 cannot possibly equal 5, unless of course you are
shopping in a place where you have to pay $45 just to get in the
door and must compensate by eating morsels of pizza substitute,
while the three items you came in for (so you can save $7) have
morphed into 18 items and that will be $145 please.
I have a great idea for a TV show: it's
called Reality Shopping where 16 contestants are turned loose in
Costco for 2 hours. Every 15 minutes the Master of Shopping comes
around and randomly checks the contents of your cart. You are forced
to instantly eat, use or assemble whatever you have accumulated.
Otherwise you are shot on the spot and the contents of your cart
are divided among the remaining contestants. The last contestant
standing gets to take all the stuff home. It's sort of a cross between
Survivor and The Apprentice.
But I forgot; you don't have a TV. Lucky
you.
Is it daylight yet?
Love and Kisses,
©2004. Lansdowne Press, Lexington, MA 02420. All rights reserved.
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