Greg Allen’s ode to Costco, flatscreen TVs, and bottomless jars of peanut butter.
So we go to Costco for lunch and formula Friday, my dad, the kids and I, and it’s a flatscreen frenzy. Like Rodney King-grade looting frenzy; every cart has a flatscreen and a bale of toilet paper, and I’m like, I have a flatscreen I don’t even watch, and yet I want another one. I couldn’t fit that box in the car, and I still want one. My dad and his wife bought the biggest flatscreen in the Triangle last spring, and I can see he wants one, too.
The kid’s sitting in the cart, and she sees a guy carrying a 19” flatscreen, and she goes, “Look! He has a tiny one!” and the guy looks at her, looks at the box — I’m not making this up, my dad told me; he was investigating the flatscreen aisle while I was in the bathroom — and goes and puts it back, and picks up a 23” flatscreen.
I’m still working through the toaster-sized box of Mach3 razor blade refills that I bought at Costco almost four years ago.