Store d’oeurves and Personal Space

So I had to go to Costco over the weekend. And it was one of those times where a little old, hair-netted person lurked at the end of every other aisle, foisting food samples onto the swelling masses. Man, I hate that. First of all, how many people really long to taste a 5 centimeter square of chicken sausage? Or some new health drink, or a piece of frozen entree heated in a little toaster oven? Well, if you’ve been thrust into the middle of one of these episodes, you would know the answer is: everyone but me wants to graze on free tidbits stuffed in mini cupcake papers.

Which makes my Costco experience even worse than it normally is. Because all these gluttons clog up the aisles, grabbing samples, cramming their faces, cramming the faces of their kids… and the kids whine for more, or spit it out into the cart. AND YOU CAN”T GET BY THEM. You can’t proceed in a brisk fashion to pick up 5 heads of romaine or a giant container of Folgers. God help you if you want to go down the cheese aisle. That row is Clusterfuck Central.

There are entire families crowded around the freezer section. There are elderly couples moving at the speed of a glacier in front of the Metamucil display. Morbidly obese people are leaning on their carts -I swear, they bend at a 90 degree angle across the handle and support themselves on the sides of the cart – as they clutch at creamsicle bites.

All these people are in my way. And they don’t care. They don’t even notice. They drive down the wrong side of the aisle, or park diagonally across the middle, while they run back to fetch another bite o’ brie. Some of them are yapping on cell phones and are not paying any attention to their squalling children who are playing tag over by the plastic swing sets. I hate them all.

I was raised by a genteel mother. I do not block aisles. I do not leave my cart on one side of the aisle and spend eons considering the merits of the products on the other side of the aisle, thus bringing all cart traffic to a standstill. I let other people go in front of me, even if I have the right of way. I help people in motorized scooter carts reach stuff from the top shelves. I answer questions from others who want to know what to do with edamame, or whether I think that bleu cheese is any good. What!? Do I look like an expert on cheese mold? Or more likely (this is, in fact, UTAH), I probably look literate, and capable of reading the expiration date on the carton.

Though I consider myself a decent human being (most days, anyway), I am a little sensitive about my personal space. I don’t like people in it. I don’t want to deal with their cell phones, kids or BO up close and personal. I smile at the people doling out the samples as I refuse them, but it is all I can do not to snarl at the greed-faces who force me to retrace my steps and come back up another aisle to get to the tomatoes. I just want you to know all this, so if we ever meet up in a Big Box store, you will keep your distance, curtail lengthy greetings, and keep your damn cart out of my way. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

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One Response to “Store d’oeurves and Personal Space”

  1. Jess Says:

    Totally just looked like a huge dork laughing out loud at this, reading on my phone, while i’m waiting for the train. Thanks for being that funny, jerk!! Now I want tiny snacks.

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