COSTCO CUSTOMS

There seems to be an elevated courtesy aura at Costcos.

Most grocery stores operate at an elementary school playground mentality. The bigger kids who can run faster are the ones who determine what games get played, and who goes first.

To me, the most insulting practice is refusal to make eye contact. Instead of politely asking if you can get over to the baking soda, people suddenly concentrate their attention, as if their life depended on it, on the bags of whole wheat organic flour that you simply know this overweight, middle-aged man with twelve six-packs of Budweiser in his cart is not the least bit interested in.

However, at the Costco on the west side of Tucson (my closest Costco... three hours away from my home), the polite and gracious responses seem to rise to rise to the level of a high-class social event, complete with a never-ending buffet of drinks and hors d'oeurves at the end of every aisle.

And since everyone is either pushing a massive shopping cart or moving dolly, and there is a real danger of losing personal extremities by an enthusiast customer purchasing an entire living room set of furniture, a wall-mount computer screen, and every sale item in the bakery mistakenly running over your foot, out of necessity, life seems to be taken at a slower pace.

It may also help that I usually shop Monday morning, where the majority of consumers are over the age of 65 and are as likely to be riding a motorized cart as not.

But conversations are easy and open - you pass the same people going to the opposite (read that "wrong") direction on every aisle, and can openly remark, "Did you know there is lite Miracle Whip in 75 lb. containers over by fresh produce?" - you become familiar with the same harried mother with four children under the age of four who is feeding her brood completely by samples of taco sauce, chocolate muffins, and Monster energy drink - you can even have the same employee who was climbing agilely to retrieve a 50-pack of Betty Crocker Super-Duper Brownie Mix for a gentleman in a wheelchair check your receipt and look under your cart for illegal medications, crack cocaine, empty vodka bottles and corn dog sticks.

The only place where tempers rise and personal behavior does revert to adolescent level is at the check-out area.

Suddenly there you become the ENEMY when, with 152 items in your cart, you try to edge into a line with the clear sign "150 ITEMS OR LESS". The scooter with an 85 year old woman steadily plows into your row, and you contemplate whether is is worth sneaking up in back of her and turning off her oxygen tank. And do you dare risk amputation and jump into the metal crash-cart-roller-derby of an new register opening?

The important part today for me was getting up there before the monsoon rain hits, and driving home fast enough that I didn't now have to put tie the tarp over my open truck bed..

(I also made certain I purchased only items that were firmly and completed surrounded by four layers of plastic).

GRACIAS DANKE MERCI GRAZI CNACŃбO

There are a few things that I absolutely know that I taught my kids:

- How to make Kraft Macaroni and Cheese

- How to shovel snow... in 1994 when Maryland had the first legitimate winter in 27 years, and we for the first time had a LOOOONNG driveway

- How to do their own laundry

- How to write their own school excuses... no, wait a minute, they picked that up on their own.

- How to set the table

- How to load the dishwasher (I don't think anyone ever learned to actually do dishes)

- And to always say "THANK YOU."

I even had a little catch phrase that I would use when I had not been thanked for, say, preparing a meal, or taking care of some one's laundry.

I would simply say, "One, two, three..." and they would response with "Thank you, Mom, for the (insert proper verb/noun here)."

Granted, sometimes in an extremely sarcastic tone at times, but nevertheless, they would thank me.

Today has been... well, let me list some things that I feel have NOT been recognized and I am tired and grumpy enough to write about tonight:

- Driving two hours to get a child of mine up to an appointment in Tucson.

- Driving two hours to return a child of mine from an appointment in Tucson.

- Purchasing aforementioned child lunch, a drink, and another drink.

- Going to Costco in Tucson for both food and supplies for the house, where two people other than myself reside (can't really expect the dogs and the cat to appreciate their food, litter, and chew bones)

- Loading $209 worth of purchases onto my truck, including 65 lbs. of dog food and 40 lbs. of cat litter.

- Securing Costco purchases for the two hour drive back in the back of my truck.

- Unloading $209 of Costco purchases from said truck into house, including 65 lb. of dog food and 40 lbs. of cat litter.

- Taking care of purchases, sink full of dirty dishes, left-over laundry from spouse, cleaning cat box, sweeping laundry room, feeding all animals, talking child down by phone from panic attack over missed bank deposit, calling and talking to mother-in-law for 40 minutes, washing kitchen floor, combining my son's laundry with my laundry....

Okay, all of you out in cyber-land, please join me in SCREAMING aloud, until we get the proper response....


"ONE, TWO, THREE......"