The Magic of the Warehouse Shopping Club

barry currin, stories of a world gone mad, beaverdamusa.comWe went to one of those big-box warehouse stores yesterday.

Every time I walk through the door — which isn’t very often — some kind of force of the universe transforms me into this person who is very unlike my normal self.

For some reason, I can’t stop wanting to put stuff I don’t need in my extra-wide shopping cart.

Yesterday, I actually stopped and picked up a 48-pack of ink pens. Initially, I thought how neat it would be to have 48 new pens that didn’t have the name of a hotel written on the side.

Then, I snapped out of it and put them back on the hook. How could anyone ever need 48 ink pens? Maybe a monk who is transcribing the bible, but other than that, I don’t know.

We needed marinara sauce. We didn’t, however, need a skid of marinara sauce. No one needs that much of any kind of sauce. Nevertheless, I was tempted.

I could make some kind of a joke about the size and/or quantity of everything in there, but that’s been done to death.

I have never, however, heard much about how being in a store like that changes people’s behavior in general. Everyone seems to become transformed into shopping zombies when they walk through the door.

We get a faraway look in our eyes, we don’t talk, we walk methodically up and down all 400 aisles doing mental math to figure out if 128 ounces of niblet corn at $8.95 makes more sense than just buying a regular-size can or two at the grocery store.

Yesterday, one woman had a radio blaring from her diaper bag. It wasn’t offensively loud, but it was annoying. Plus, it was reggae music, which upped the annoyance factor just a smidgen more.

As you can imagine, it was like she was chasing me around the store. Every time I rounded the corner, there she was — jamming away as she loaded down her cart with stuff she certainly didn’t need either.

Every time I go to any store, there is always one person who manages to get in my way on every aisle, then beat me to the register before cutting me off in the parking lot on the way out.

Yesterday, she managed to do all three with the Bob Marley cranked up.

One thing we were actually looking for was 8-ounce bottled waters for vacation bible school. Our 200-mile trek in search of something I thought was pretty common ended in defeat, however.

They had all sizes of bottles: huge, even more huge and titanically-enormous. But they had no 8-ounce bottles.

Doesn’t that just figure? I guess we’re becoming even more of a super-sized society.

In the end, though, what started out as a shopping trip for only a couple of things ended up costing a mere $178.

If you need to borrow a can of mushrooms, just let me know.

Of course, in my family no shopping trip is complete without someone in the car on the way home ceremoniously announcing, “I know what we forgot get…”

Yesterday it was eggs.

Maybe it’s a memory thing. The next time I swing by that store, I may have to invest in a pallet of ginkgo biloba.

About Barry Currin

Barry tries to be funny and poignant, and he's usually satisfied when he succeeds with one or the other. (Being both is awesome. And sometimes that happens.) Email him:

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