If you have been up since midnight today, you have my deepest sympathy.
There’s not one thing I want bad enough to trade sleep for. Neither is there a bargain so great that I’m willing to risk a black eye over it. It’s all yours.
But on my list for later is a lingerie shop. Somewhere in the back, between the perfume and the silk stockings, they must sell what I’m looking for: a hairnet.
Because nothing lights up my Hubby’s eyes like a fat lady in a hairnet handing out free samples.
I suppose you’re a fan of Costco too?
It’s the only place he goes on Black Friday. He could get any of this stuff online. And there’s always a line outside the door, not just today. They always have deals. In bulk.
Last year he filled a cart and two flats with stuff. Simply because he could. He was like a kid in a candy store. All the impulse shopping he could do and no regrets.
“This place is great!” he cries constantly, “You can return anything. Any time!”
And we did. Over the next few weeks, it almost all went back. But boy did he have fun.
Here’s my little rant, and feel free to disagree. Costco is ridiculous.
You will never walk out with just what was on your list. And what was on your list, you must buy in vast amounts. So your budget…yeah, creamed.
But if Costco sells it, Hubby will buy it. My only hope for ever getting new furniture or a blender or diamond jewelry is if they sell it. Vacations, clothing, tortillas and backpacks, you name it. Hubby is positive that Costco has done all his research on a product for him. Costco will add their own warranties to products and let you return that crusty used toaster for a full refund.
Even if you threw away all the packaging and you’re dragging it by its cord.
Even if the receipt is stuck to the bottom of your trashcan with maple syrup.
Even if the melted pop tart is still fused into a slot.
Because that’s the kind of customer service we’re talking about, by George, and that’s five stars by him.
I’m horrified. Straight up. That he would even try a stunt like that.
And Costco is enabling this behavior.
He loves to go there on his lunch break during the week. He feels like he gets a cheap meal that comes with a floor show. You can sit down and eat a hot dog with a Coke and watch the most random people buying the most random items.
But first, he works the building and visits the hairnet ladies.
There is stiff competition for the free samples around the store. He spars with an elderly man over a quarter of a cheeseburger. He pushes in front of a lady’s motorized shopping cart to get his taste of rolled taco bites.
When the family of four starts taking more than one sample each, he has to reach right between them and snatch his fair share of chocolate covered pretzels.
But when the bacon lady is ready to pull out her next batch of hickory smoked kibble, you’d better believe he maneuvers to be first in line. And even that isn’t a guarantee he’ll get one. Scalded fingers and burnt tongues are a small price to pay for your share of tasty goodness.
Sadly, our sons are also learning to love a lady in a hairnet.
I stand aloof, my back to the sock displays, and watch with unabated horror. I act like I don’t know my own family and only make eye contact to silently shame them into stopping.
“Don’t take the sample!” my eyes plead, “we aren’t going to buy that. It’s not right. Why are you fighting for something you don’t need?”
But the siren song of the hairnet ladies overrides my calls for composure and they flit helplessly from cart to cart, only bypassing the ones handing out Ensure and chia seeds.
It’s nice to know that Hubby would leap tall buildings in a single bound if only I wore a hairnet and was handing out bacon bits.
So I guess my shopping list is much smaller than yours. Wake me up when it’s noon.