A New Frontier, Costco

It's the law. I swear it is, because everyone is shops there. My neighbors are all pulling out large boxes filled with groceries and other items. When you move to Kirkland you must be a Costco member.

I'm not sure what happens if you don't, I'm not brave enough to find out.

From mattresses to kayaks to large screen TVs to a year supply of toilet paper Costco has it all, and then some.

These Costco shoppers are on a mission, and do not get in the way of their carts, they will run you over with a ten pound chicken breast and fifty pounds of ketchup. If only I were exaggerating.

I love the efficiency of the Costco shopper: sprint down the aisle, drift around corners and never stop the cart while grabbing an item.

You just have to be aware that like the stop signs outside the parking lot go ignored, so do other carts. Lead, follow, or get out of the way, because these shoppers have no time for you trying to find ten pounds of barbecue sauce.

It was my first solo trip to Costco, and knowing it could get crazy I went early so I wouldn't have to battle crowds as I tried to remember if the toilet paper was in aisle 15 or aisle 155.

Arriving just before 10 a.m. I found a parking spot close to the entrance, and a line forming outside the closed gates.

Was there a giveaway? A special sale? A ride on a unicorn?

No. Apparently, it's imperative you be the first one through the doors. I was not.

Oh, Costco, how important you make me feel as I walk under a sign that says: "Members Only" and make me show my Costco membership card. I feel like an elite shopper as I buy a fifteen pack of socks to go with my 30 hamburgers.

I felt like I should have had a special badge on my shirt as I walked through the entrance, looking up at the heavens, where only a forklift can reach.

I'm still trying to get the lay of the land, so there were several trips up and down the same aisle so I could look at both sides before I could determine I had everything I needed.

It's an organized chaos, one that I'm still learning, but people are more than happy to help.

In the past two weeks, I've learned that I am afraid of the dark. So, Chris proposed a night light, probably so I wouldn't break my neck in the middle of the night trying to get a glass of water. Or I could finally let him sleep after I hear a noise.

 I asked a nice man named Dave where the nightlights were. He proudly marched me over to the lighting area on aisle 54 and showed me the outdoor lights people hang on their garages.

"It's used at night," Dave told me excitedly.

Yes, they are used at night, but if I were to put that in my room I'm pretty sure I would be blinded worse than Clark Griswold's neighbors.

I thanked him, pretended to look through the different lights until he left.

When he left, I went to grab milk.

Oh man.

I'm all about the non fat aka skim milk. I feel like anything higher needs to be chewed or has a sour taste. If I have to suck it up, I'll drink one percent. I might put two percent in my cereal if I'm starving and have no other options. Three percent? Let me grab a spoon.

Anyway.

One percent aka low fat was in easy sight. So was whatever cute names Costco gave two and three percent. I asked about no fat milk. The woman pointed out the one percent.

Me: Is that the lowest percent you have?
Her: Yes
Me: Okay

I wasn't thrilled but I go through milk so fast it will only be an inconvenience for about a week.

Her: There is this type of milk over here, it's more like water than milk, though.
Me: Skim? I'll take it.
Her: Weird look.

Apparently she loved the three percent.

After I found a three pound bag of non organic tortilla chips (everything is organic, it's great but I'm still trying to figure out how junk food can be organic), I headed to checkout.

Clerk: We sell normal size hotdogs?!
Me: Yeah, but you just have to buy three packs of them.
Clerk: But they're normal size!

Shocking, I know.

I'm enjoying being an elite snooty Costco member, I'm just not turning my back on the traditional grocery store, yet.