I have a love-hate relationship with Costco. I love the convenience of buying candy, batteries, latex gloves, apples, wool socks and books in one run. I hate the lifting, then lifting again, and finally, lifting again at home.
Today the checker’s helper did the lifting onto the conveyor belt.
“Please don’t put anything heavy on the bottom of the cart,” I said.
The woman didn’t question me, unlike a guy who said to me years ago, “We can get someone to help you load your car, old woman.”
I added the last two words.
Please don’t insult me. I’m not an old lady, just a woman with a bad low back. I can move cases of drinks to my Prius hatchback with no problem if you leave them in the child seat area of my cart.
I had a full cart today, with Christmas right around the corner. I have enough Ghirardelli, Belgian and Ferrer Roche chocolates to last the season, plus guacamole for one adult child, wool socks for my sis in the care home (they keep dressing her in summer anklets), veggie burgers and buns, ice cream, raspberries, dog bones, salad, and eggs. On top of the groceries were socks for the masses, Swiss Toblerone bars to put in the socks so people don’t feel bad that I am giving them socks, Harry Potter action figures to go with the Ninja Turtles under my Christmas tree (I have one this year!), plus Madeleines (the best cookies).
As I was pushing the cart at the end of my circuit to the registers, my sore leg muscle started to scream. Last time I went warehousing, I took my son with me. What was I thinking, going alone?
There was no waiting at the registers, and one Costco employee wandered off to find me something. The checker was not in a rush to win the race, and the helper woman fit everything from my cart into the main basket, nothing on the bottom. By the time she was done, I had eggs and socks peeking over the top of the metal.
I tucked the eggs into a safer place, got in line for my See’s gift cards at the merchandise window, asked about the McCartney book called Lyrics, which is $99.00 on Amazon, only $59.99 at Costco, but they don’t’ have it yet.
As I wheeled my way out the door, past the handicapped parking (no bumps) and over to my car, it started to rain. I had no hood and no jacket, but the raised hatchback provided me protection as I plucked the fabric things out of the cart first as the rain picked up speed. Everything got wet, but the socks weren’t too bad, and who cares about the rest? It’s just groceries.
I jigsaw-puzzled my stuff into the back, threw Harry and the gang into the back seat, along with my pale green bath set for the beach house (two rugs, shower curtain, hooks, liner).
By the time I got home, the car had been rinsed off, and the sun was breaking through the clouds. I took in the perishables and will leave the rest for some offspring assistance.
Lyrics arrives next week.
Maybe this wasn’t my last 2021 Costco run after all.
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 