The Chronicles of Costco

Some of you may have noticed my absence from the blogosphere last week as I decided to take the week off. But, contrary to some rumors I’ve heard, I was not at the BlogHer conference – although I hear it was great – perhaps next year. Nope, I decided to take a little time away from the office to spend with the family and away from technology.

BTW, highly recommend cutting the cord (all of them) for at least a few days. The first day is tough, but if you can get through the shakes, it’s pure heaven after that.

As a result, I really don’t have any of my traditional work-related rants to share. Don’t worry though, within about 20 mins of being in the office Monday it was all back to normal. Unfortunately.

However, I thought it might be nice to share with you how I ended my vacation, because in a sense it was a good “welcome back to reality”.

Now, before I get into the end of vacation bliss, I do want to caution you. Do not try this at home. I am a professional and my experiences are based on years of training and marriage.

OK. Now that we have that out of the way, lets begin. It all started with a simple question from Mrs. CV:

Hey CV, how about we go to Costco today?

I thought, WTF? Seriously? It’s Sunday. The last day of my vacation. It’s gorgeous outside (sorry folks in the sweltering parts of the country, i.e., everywhere else). Do I want to go to Costco?

Me: Sure honey let’s go.

See what I did there? A happy wife is a happy life. Take note men.

And, we were off!

Yeah, yeah, I hear you all shaking your heads out there thinking Costco? That’s got nothing on Walmart. Well, here’s the deal. I have never been to a Walmart. Yep, that’s right. NEVER. And, I have a personal life goal of never, ever, ever setting foot in a Walmart. And, as I round the turn and head into the back nine (or hopefully more) of my life I can say, “so far so good.”

A few minutes later, the missus and I loaded up into the suburban grocery getter and headed off to Costco.

I don’t know where you all live (and I’ll never tell you freaks where I live), but my Costco has got to be the busiest in the world. It’s insane. Go on a weekend and it’s insane times like 467.

So, after 3 red light turn signal cycles we finally entered the parking lot of the great Costco. I navigate the grocery getter in hopes that I’ll somehow get lucky finding a spot close to the entrance (the great lazy American dream). After what seems like a full gestational period of driving around, my better two-thirds says:

CV, turn here and then go over there. I always have luck there.

A hidden (I hope) eye roll later and sure enough there’s some people getting into the cargo van with what has to be enough bread for an army.
Turn signal on.
And, wait.
And, wait.
And, wait.
I think this was the first time I uttered the dreaded F-bomb. “Will you fucking hurry up already?” Don’t fret…despite it being beautiful out the A/C was on and the windows were up.

With the car finally parked it was time to head to the entrance of America’s shopping version of the Roman Coliseum. With a cart roughly the equivalent size of a double-wide trailer firmly in hand(s), we enter through the giant archway aptly labeled “Entrance”. But, first we must show our membership card.

OK seriously now. AMEX always says, “membership has its privileges.” Well, to me any jackass can get a Costco card so what the fuck are the privileges?

After the gatekeeper acknowledges what could have easily been my AAA card I’m greeted with a TV that could easily double as my garage door. An 80″ LCD TV that is priced less than the 55″ TV I bought 2 years ago. The missus note’s my gaze and says:

CV…keep walking.

As we round the corner and I try to navigate my double-wide without taking out a small child, I quickly realize there are no rules.

Have you ever seen or been to India’s busiest streets where there are all kinds of vehicles – cars, Toyota pickups (they are always Toyota pickups), carts, bikes, motorcycles, crazy-ass-wierd taxi-like things, elephants, etc.? Well that’s what Main Street, Costco is like. No rules. Every man or elephant for himself. I swear I got more bruises below my waist in this one trip than I did an all my years playing soccer (football for your non-USers).

Hey CV, I wanna look at some pants, how about you go check out some of those nice Polo shirts. I think you need something other than one of those horrid work ones.

Well, it beats looking for women’s pants. Polo shirt aisle here I come. Dang these are cheap…and nice actually. Adidas. Cutter and Buck. Some knock-off of Tommy Bahama called Panama Jack. Jack? Whiskey! Worth a look.

Hey that blue one’s nice. Let’s see, I’m a Medium. Fine Large.
Hmmm, XL…XL…XXL…XL…XXXL…How many X’s are there in Fucking Huge Large?

Sigh. Clearly I’m not the target size, er clientele. Welp, so much for that.

I’m going to the alcohol section. –Me yelled across 2 aisle to the missus.

Seriously…who the hell buys a $15k bottle of scotch? More important, who the hell buys a $15k bottle of scotch at Costco? OHHH Free Samples of sausages! I’M OFF!

As I fight off an international crowd of wealthy people and their kids looking for a free 0.5 ounce piece of “meat” I get to the front. “Sorry, but I’m all out. It’ll take 8-10 minutes for more to be ready.” Another F-Bomb by me.

As we amble around the corner, I see some Wild Sockeye Salmon. OHHH YEAH! It’s fish. It’s loaded with Omega 3’s (whatever that is). It’s wild. It’s going in my cart.

As we pass the Spinach Mozzarella Ravioli samples (also gone), the Oreo samples (had 2 cause had to get one for the wife – story I told the server), the sock and underwear aisle (pretty sure 60% of the Bay Area wears the same boxers) and jars of vitamins that’ll last the rest of my life if I only take “one-a-day”, we pause…

25 checkout registers. Each 10-15 deep with idiots like me. F-Bomb warning…

Honey, Fuck this, I’m hungry and outta here. I’m gonna go get one of those big ass Kosher hot dogs and a Coke (no smile). I’ll have finished before you ever get outta here.

After navigating the between what looks like the toll booths of the Bay Bridge at rush hour, I made my way to the great archway labeled “Exit”.

Underpaid Grumpy Woman: “May I see your receipt?”
Me: “I didn’t buy anything, just leaving to get a hot dog.”
UGW: O_0 (that’s the look of you’re full of bullshit). “Umm ok.”

Holy shit, this hot dog line is huge. Quickly evaluate the 5 lines…1 no that’s everyone’s first choice. 2…too long. 3! Yes, 3!

What seems like 5 mins pass and I look over my shoulder…Mrs. CV is already out?!?! And, she’s giving me the look of, “Crap will you hurry up already? Our 55 whole chickens are defrosting!”

One more person in front of me (or is she really 4 ladies…). “I’ll have 4 hot dogs and a whole cheese pizza please.” Verdict…4 ladies.

My turn! “I’ll have one of the hot dog drink combo please.”
Clerk: “Just one?”
Me: “Yeah, I’m watching my weight thank you.”

Hot dog in one hand. Soda…(F-Bomb alert)…Fuck, Pepsi? Whatdaya mean you don’t have Coke in the other hand, and I spot Mrs. CV – eyebrow raised…foot tapping…and telepathically telling me, “hurry up dammit!”

Five more minutes of loading the car. Why so long? Well, it’s Costco, so that means dumping each individual bag of 150 rolls of toilet paper item into your car one at a time. Better hurry up though as there’s a guy who vaguely looks like me with his wife in a car giving me the, “fucking hurry up already” look. Now that’s ironic.

Car loaded and we’re off to home!

I’ve survived!

Oh shit! Where are we gonna store all this crap? We probably should’ve bought another freezer at Costco.