Costco is the Holy Land of 21st century America. We revere its high-ceilinged isles. We worship at its photo lab and in its optometry section. Its priestesses give us this day our daily yogurt-covered raisins and meatball samples. It is the string that ties America’s middle class together. Yes! My veggie straws are your veggie straws. It is the nice guy of consumerism. Have you not heard how well they treat their employees? It fulfils your American need to obtain, your human need to get a good deal, and at the end there is a not-too-shabby polish dog with sauerkraut.
Once I bought a trip to Tahiti there. It was spectacularly easy on Costco.com. As I stood in a palm-rimmed infinity pool, staring into the ocean with a glass of wine, I thought, “I bought this thing that I am doing right now at the same place that I bought my dog’s flea medication.”
Then I thought, “I am standing in a pool with a GLASS of wine and no one has kicked me out or pointed to a sign that says, “No glass in the pool.” There wasn’t a sign. There were no signs about anything! They trusted me to just not drop this glass in the pool? Not to exceed 30 persons in the waterl? To not run or kill myself? How uniquely un-American. I bought a really non-American feeling at the most American place in America.
I gripped my wine glass like a premature baby.