Did you just start shopping there? Costco is so awful it’s funny after a while. I used to try to strategically pick a day and time when it wasn’t busy, but it seems like the herd figures out when I’m going to be there and follows me.
From the best of craigslist:
The Supers are among us. Saturday in Costco they were apparent everywhere mingling with us ordinary folks.
BLINKER BOY ï¿½?? You sat in your powder blue minivan tending your liver spots waiting for someone to move their car out of a prime spot. There wasnï¿½??t anyone even walking to a car in that lane, but you know that time and numbers are on your side. Youï¿½??re also savvy enough to know that if you let another car pass, they may get to a spot first. So you block. And you wait. In the middle. Staking out that lane as yours and creating havoc behind you. Left blinker on if someone walks down the left side of the row, quickly switching to right blinker if they cross. Hazards if they change rows in the middle. I was the guy who lured you to the end of the row by pretending to unlock the silver Acura, only to walk away when you got close. The people you were blocking thanked me.
THERMODYNAMICS GIRL. You demonstrate that energy input in the form of food, minus energy expended in the form of exercise yields energy stored in the form of lard. I passed you repeatedly over the hour I was in the store. Certainly you couldï¿½??ve found SOMETHING to buy after all this time. Then, I see. Itï¿½??s not a shopping trip, itï¿½??s a free lunch. And thatï¿½??s not a cart. Itï¿½??s a walker. You heave your enormous, flabby arms and boobs over the edge of the cart and lean on it as you make your glacial progress from free sample to free sample. You use your cart/walker like a bulldozer in your quest to reach the Holy Grail; a Dixie Cup of Rock Star Energy Drink. The lady in the hairnet becomes your own personal drive-thru. I particularly liked how you asked if there were other flavors to try and took one for the road. The BBQ meatballs were a whole two aisles away.
ROUNDABOUT MAN. You parked yourself and your cart in the middle of the intersection of two shopping aisles strategically angled so as to occupy as much physical space as possible. While you forced traffic to direct itself in circles around you like a bunch of badly dressed Renaults circling the Arc de Triumph you were licking (tongue hanging out LICKING!) the inside of a spent paper cup full of Chicken Creamy Supreme. The look of confusion you gave when I told you to get the f%$^* out of the way was made funnier by the leftover cream sauce in your scraggly mustache.
THE SCREAMING EAGLES. The most lethal bunch in the store, led by a person to whom conscience and self-awareness are weaknesses to be exploited in others. She enters the store like a normal mom with three kids. Once inside, the disguise is removed, goggles flip down and she stares unwaveringly at her attack plan disguised as a shopping list. With trained efficiency, her cadre of small, fast and determined fighter escorts fan out alongside where they make sorties to various end-caps, sample stations and electronics displays. While docked with the mother ship, they effectively block passers and send other shoppers diving down the snack row for safety. They dive in and out of crowds knocking people and products over and come out unscathed, holding bags of Chicken Wings and Jalapeno Poppers. The most promising disciple is named Godzilla, for his ability to scatter Asian women with his stomping, screaming temper tantrums.
THE STROLLER Your name is a reference to the speed of your progress which resembles nothing so much as a nice little stroll on a sunny spring day in the garden. Determined to make your fellow shoppers slow down and smell the roses you set the speed limit for whichever aisle youï¿½??re in. Itï¿½??s like following a school bus down a two lane road. I tried a bit of method acting and matched your pace, just to see what goes through the mind of someone so utterly lacking in ambition and purpose. All I could envision is how little I wanted to finish and be forced to go home to the gold and green shag carpeted, wood paneled house that smells like yesterdayï¿½??s Depends.
And my favorite ï¿½?? SUPERBOWL CONSUMER MAN! You were disguised in gray Champion sweats and a football jersey (making a triumphant homecoming to their place of purchase). Your tan Velcro Rockports were the sole give-away to the fact that you havenï¿½??t strung together three running steps since Ike died. An off-brand 42 inch flat screen TV was parked on the big flat dolly with no company other than an enormous log of Velveeta cheese-flavored-food-product. You would have blended in nicely if you hadnï¿½??t decided to take your entire purchase with you through the line to get a Polish dog and Diet Coke. Or was it a Chicken Bake, you man of mystery you? You were clearly proud of your purchase because you talked about it loudly the entire time. And if we needed a reminder that youï¿½??re a big spender, you banged the evidence against our shins and plowed into tables as you strutted through the concession pushing inaccurately with one hand and one elbow while filling your grill with the other.