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| CANADA'S SOURCE FOR WHOLESALE HUMOUR, PARODY, AND SATIRE
INSIDE THE LOCAL COSTCO--I wander through the concrete-encased shopping park looking for deals on anything and everything I can find. I stare in awe at the sky-high shelves that hold giant containers of discount food items that I use almost everyday. Every time I shop, I purchase more food than the Brady Bunch would need in a month--even if Jan started loading up on carbs and Alice began to binge.
I'm ashamed to admit it, but I'm a Costcoholic. It began innocently--a barrel of Hellman's mayonnaise here, a tub of Crisco shortening there. I wasn't hurting anyone with my reasonably-priced bulk item purchases. My consumer reasoning was sound, at least that's what I was convincing myself when I was emptying my debit account at the till. "Who couldn't use an extra crate of low-sodium Triscuits?" I would justify to myself, as I rolled through the warehouse with a cart the size of a Honda down aisles that could land a Boeing jet. At first, I'd only spend a few hundred dollars on a Costco visit. Pretty conservative I'd say. Sure, I'd only come out of there with a pallet of Caffeine-Free Diet Coke, 24 pairs of white crew socks, and enough sugar-free Trident gum to freshen the breath of everyone in Idaho. I bought more than I would ever need. But it was satisfying, because I knew I was saving money in the long run. After a while though, the amazing wholesale "savings" began to overwhelm the logic. I started to buy spices in unhealthy amounts. I purchased gallons of salad dressing, pounds of pitted prunes, and giant tins of Heinz ketchup that could cover a crinkle-cut mountain of wholesale-bought McCain's french fries. What was I doing? I took out loans so that I could "save" money on bulk beef patties; I sold my home stereo so that I could buy a freezer big enough to hold the crates of cost-friendly corn dogs. I couldn't fit my car in the garage anymore because it was filled with sacks of flour, rice, and corn starch. Corn starch? I barely use enough of the stuff to thicken my gravy, and I already had enough gravy mixes to turn Boston Harbour into a brownish sludge. My pantry is stuffed with enormous boxes of Cap'n Crunch--enough breakfast cereal to last me until the Cap'n becomes an Adm'ral, and still I can't stop! I don't even eat cereal anymore because the cuts on the roof of my mouth still haven't healed. Instead I have found other uses for the breakfast material that stays crunchy even in milk: hamburger filler, drain rock, land fill. What is this consumer lure that snags me like a fingernail on a pair of nylons, and reels me into Costco like the gumboot on the end of a fishing hook? Why do I buy more condiments than a small restaurant franchise? Will my teeth fall out before I empty that tank of Colgate toothpaste? Will I ever be able to finish all those baby dills that came in that jar large enough to pickle Julia Child? I have so
many more Costco shopping woes to talk about, but I just realized that
I'm out of cookie dough, and there just happens to be a huge stock of
the drums of Pillsbury Choco-Chip Batter going on right now...
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| This fictional story about Costco spendaholics is intended for adults. | The World Leader in Canadian humour, humor, parody, and satire. | |
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