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! What a fucking pig!!”

Cart man is happy. I am ashamed. But mostly I am ready go.

This time I remembered to get my parking ticket electronically validated by the cashier.

Perfect.

Long line of cars to get out. I’m not patient, but resolved.

My turn.

In goes the parking ticket.

Gate doesn’t open. Fuck!

I push the button.

Costco parking attendant answers.

“I want out.”

“Nope, you’re not leaving. Not now.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!? I’m finished shopping. There are 20 cars behind me. I want out!”

“Nope. You stayed in the store too long after you checked out and you owe us money.”

“Fuck you!”

“Maybe, but for now you need to return with your ticket and pay.”

Suspiciously, a Costco employee was standing nearby and directed 20 or so cars to back up so I could return in shame for trying to screw Costco out of a dollar.

Yes, a dollar.

In review, I spent nearly 600 dollars buying mostly shit I don’t need, ate a piece of their death-by-fat pizza, waited in line to be certified a non-thief, waited again in a long line of cars filled with other people and shit they didn’t need, only to be told, “We want one more dollar, Jimmy. And you will give it to us or you will stay here. Forever.”

Such is the problem with big business.

They want the fucking last dollar and don’t give a shit about their customers.

Why?

The law of large numbers. If I never shop in a Costco again, it’s not even a rounding error for them. They can lose a thousand of me this week and not even notice.

I can write a letter. And I will. And I will get a form apology regretting their “failure,” without mentioning what it was, because they don’t give a flying fuck about their failures.

They want the last fucking dollar.

And they got it.

And I can eat cake.

No, not cake. Raisins. I can drink vodka and eat raisins.

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