Carlos, Carts, and CostCo

Carlos and I recently joined CostCo. We had been members of Sam's Club, but they're rude and stupid and like to use the word "because" when you ask about store policy. So we said FUSam'sClub and went to CostCo. we thought we'd be bulk shoppers and save some money and be organized.

I know. Makes me laugh, too.

But, to push us in that direction, we bought a vacuum packing system so that we can buy meat and fish in bulk at CostCo and put it in a baggie, suck the air out of the bag and the pressurize it so that a piece of salmon can last for 3 years in the freezer....because I'm thinking of grilling salmon in June 2013 and I like to be prepared.

So, yesterday we made the trek from Smallville to North Carolina--yes, the closest CostCo is in North Carolina--and the big city of Charlotte. It's a nice drive through small towns and farms, so it's a pleasant trip.

When we got to the CostCo, it was packed with the after-church crowd. Woman in their Sunday dresses and men in their uncomfortable ties, and children. As far as the eye could see; all I could think was Would any of those rug rats last three years in a vacuum-packed freezer bag?

Just a thought.

I grab a cart and we start looking. Ooh, printer/scanner/copier/fax! Aah, small freezer! Oooooh, exercise machines! Seriously, I laugh, thinking of people who might come in for twenty frozen pizzas and a flatscreen TV because you can do it there. Oh, and get a 15 gallon tub of mayo, too.

But, Carlos and I are on a mission. We're having Carlos' First Annual Cinco de Never party this weekend. Last year, he made mention of having a Cinco de Mayo party to some friends, but then May came and, yes, no party. So, it became Cinco de Never. But this year, we're doing it, on Ocho de Mayo, or next Saturday. A full on Mexican feast for thirty. Oy! So, we've been buying tamale flour and tequila, avocado and tequila, corn and tequila, triple sec and tequila.

You get the idea.

Which brought us to CostCo yesterday for the last bits and pieces that we needed.

I'm pushing the cart with Carlos and he's wandering away like a toddler on too much sugar, so I give him the task of cart management. Which is fine, because at first he's right with me, but then I find myself talking to no one, or worse, a complete stranger, and I can't find Carlos. See, at CostCo, on every corner of every aisle, they have people offering samples of everything from tuna to cheese, to sauces and chicken tenders, and Carlos.Stops.At.Every.One.

I backtrack and find him stuffing his face full of tuna on crackers. I have that face and he comes along. I tell him, Stay with me, I'm out here by myself talking to freaks about how and where to store a kettle drum of canola oil.

Carlos is back on cart duty, and we're walking andtalking. But then, I see a cart swerving down the aisle ahead of me, some overgrown child riding it like a toy, his feet on the bottom rail, pushing the cart like a madman. I just know he's gonna run down an old lady with carrying a fifty-pak of toilet paper, and I turn to Carlos to say, Look at that idiot.

Carlos is that idiot.

I'm thinking of getting one of those kid leash for the next trip to CostCo.