Heather Toshiko

I hate people.  Well, maybe that’s a little strong.  No, nevermind, I hate people. 

See, about twice a year, I go to Costco and stock up.  I try to avoid weekends and Costcos in cities with high illegal immigrant populations, but I was in need of some essentials today so we went to the one on Sepulveda in The Valley.

For starters, it probably didn’t help my mood that it was 92 degrees outside.  I’m not a fan of the heat, so I was already feeling pissy when we entered the store.  That’s when the stench of a thousand sweaty bargain hunters from countries spanning the globe hit me.  It seems they were all embroiled in a vicious battle for cart spaces closest to the free sample tables, and failing to wrangle their tards.  In a word: hell.

Within minutes we were stuck in a 5-cart pileup near a sausage sample table in the deli section.  Some stay-puft marshmallow minority was blocking an entire aisle while greedily shoving mini-dicks in her mouth.  Really?  The joke writes itself.  I had to clap my hands and loudly say  “Traffic jam, c’mon people move it along.  You’re blocking the aisle.”  Stay-Puft looked up in a grease addled daze and then lumbered out of everyone’s way.  Fatass.

After fighting through the rest of the aisles and getting reprimanded by Chris every time I wanted to buy something that tastes good, we headed to the front of the store.  There, we stopped briefly to look at socks.  Seriously, why do men think it’s ok to wear socks riddled with holes?  I mean, it’s like $5 for 50 pairs at Costco so you really don’t need to wear socks that are grayish in color, threadbare and crunchy.  I digress. 

So, we park the cart in a respectable slot on the side of the aisle so as not to block traffic.  Also, there were a ton of illegals as I mentioned before, and you just know their carts weren’t insured.  Anyway, we’re looking for sox in size ginormous and this little Armenian woman asks us to move our cart so she can get by, rather than burning 5 extra calories and going around it.  Chris, nice guy that he is, happily obliged.  I fought to silence my inner demons, but I did not win.  I politely suggested she just go the fuck around and stop being lazy.  I’m pretty sure she didn’t understand a damn word I said.  Fatass.

We finally managed to get to the checkout without further altercation, and after spending $300, I nestled into the herd headed for the door.  There, some minimum wage monkey barely glanced at my receipt then marked it with her highliter-of-self-esteem.  Seriously, does this really help prevent theft?  Unless they’re checking every item against the receipt, which there is no time to do, it’s a pointless exercise.  All it does is cause a huge clusterfuck at the door.  Arrrgh!

By the time we were in the lot, I was sweaty, agro and looking for a fight.  I’m still not sure how we made it out of the lot.

I hate Costco.