Off The Beaten Path: The Festival Of Lights Meets The Festival Of Shopping

By Donna Lynn Rhodes

We all say it. “I’m making a Costco run.”

It’s never a Safeway run or a Target run. But it’s always a “Costco run.”
That’s because no other store tests our patience, endurance, willpower and perseverance the way Costco does — especially during the holidays.

There’s something about Costco that transcends class and socioeconomic status. Rich or poor, young or old, we all shop at Costco, and no one judges us for it. Well, almost no one.

For me, planning a Costco run resembles a chapter from the NFL playbook or a Homeland covert operation. My sister-in-law would probably hire a party planner to oversee the strategy.

The night before I go in to battle, my mind races with pre-shopping logistics: Is my trunk empty? How much can I spend? Should I wait in line for gas? Are they open yet? Do I really have to go?

The next day, armed with an over-sized shopping cart and Costco Connection coupon book, I’m at the starting line. I flash my membership card and smile at the greeter while trying to ignore the Samsung 75-inch LED HDTV on my right and the Chanel titanium and diamond watch on my left. No, I have a list, and I’m sticking to it. But maybe I should get a frozen yogurt first.

With resolve and determination, dodging cart after cart, I join in the Running of the Bulls and make my way to the Wailing Wall of paper towels, bottled water and toilet paper. God, I hate Costco – why is it so crowded and why did all these people have to come today? You’d think Thanksgiving and Chanukah are falling on the same day.

Great prices may be in abundance at Costco, but manners certainly are not. It’s damned near impossible to maneuver around dozens of abandoned carts left in aisles by chazers trying to grab free samples. People are practically plowing each other down trying to score a half of blintze in a paper cup. Kind of like an Oneg Shabbat but without the guilt.

Every cart tells a story. It’s like watching Saturday morning cartoons – one cart has a slab of meat straight out of the Flintstones and another sports giant solar panels from the Jetsons. It’s easy to see spot a Member of the Tribe: the Jews have a case of lox and the non-Jews have a case of Scotch. And you can tell which moms are shopping for Chanukah because they have two-times-eight of every gift-item in their cart.

I spot an office manager stocking up on coffee, plastic cutlery, Clorox wipes and Goldfish crackers, and pass a Power Shopper laden with a box of Fuji apples, two cooked chickens, a mound of paper towels, seven books, a jumbo box of Keurig brew cups, designer sunglasses, twelve cans of tuna and a dog bed piled up higher than she is. Oh wait – that’s my cart.

And present in every single cart? The ubiquitous five-pound tub of Item #958612: Red Vines.

With more than 55 million members, it’s safe to say Costco has mastered the art of warehouse shopping. Even after we become accustomed to the maze of confusion, they still know how to entice us in to buying something this trip because it might not be there the next. And God forbid Costco should have helpful signage telling us what’s in any given aisle. Just when I remember where they keep the 18-pound briskets, they move them. So why do we put up with the chaotic crowds, copious carts and the never-ending symphony of cellphones? Easy. Because a Costco run — especially at Chanukah — gives you lots of new reasons to spend and kvetch.

In the 1980s and early ’90s Costco used to sell basic bulk products geared toward small businesses and families large enough to have their own reality show. Nowadays, Costco pretty much sells everything, including cars and coffins. One thing’s for certain, from a digital drum set to to a Dyson vacuum, if you walk around long enough you’ll buy something you absolutely don’t need.

I check my list and realize I forgot the garbage bags. So I muscle my way back to the other end , and of course, the one day I don’t wash my hair I run in to someone I haven’t seen in years. After 10 minutes of talking about how much we both hate Costco, I head to the checkout lines that stretch past the giant display of Peet’s Coffee Gift Cards and ten-tier Kirkland Chocolate towers wrapped for the holidays. While in line I check my email, play three rounds of Words with Friends and get ready to unload my cart and my wallet.  On the way out, receipt in hand, I pass a little village of overweight people huddled under indoor umbrellas eating hot dogs and pizza while protecting their overflowing carts and yelling at their kids to sit down.

Like a trained Maccabee soldier I wait in line at the door while someone with a Costco nametag makes sure I’m not trying to hide a leather couch. Finally outside, with blue skies and fresh air, I make my way past the parade of minivans to my sporty little car. Barely able to see out of my back window, I carefully navigate the overcrowded lot and make my exodus. Stuck in traffic, I suddenly realize that 48 Skinny Cows are melting in my trunk.

Tough. I’ll pick up another box on my next Costco run. After Christmas.