On Being Held Hostage In Costco For a Dollar
Below is my Costco receipt from yesterday. In pesos. In dollars it was $550 and change. Did I need it all? Of course not. I swear at the end of the checkout process that something must have gone wrong. And it did. Me. I went in with a list and a commitment to buy only what was on it. I come out with three and half liters of vodka, dumplings (WTF?), hummus, mahi-mahi, four pizzas, a garbage bag full of baby carrots, cheese, more cheese, four pounds of raisins, and a lot of shit I don’t even recognize. I didn’t do it. I order a piece of pizza on the way out, sit down and review my sins carefully and come to a conclusion: I did it. I will do better next time. Bullshit. Then 49 items are carefully counted by an exit clerk to make sure I didn’t stash an 80 inch state of the art TV in my cart. Pay the guy waiting to help me a couple of bucks to take it to my car, staying far enough behind him to plausibly deny the thought of everyone in that parking lot: “Look at that cart!