To me, this next moment I'm about to share was a common mistake--something that could have happened to anyone. Well, needless to say, I was wrong. Within minutes of posting my experience on Facebook, I had about 20 people either commenting or "liking" my status (probably because of the pure stupidity of the situation). That's when I realized it wasn't a common mistake, but a naive small town moment...mixed with slight stupidity, I admit.
Here it goes...you be the judge.
My roommate, Molly, and I decided to make nachos for dinner. While I was at dance, she sends me a text asking me to pick up cheese. Simple task, right? For me, apparently not. I hadn't lived at my house that long and the route was fairly new, as were the nearest grocery stores. Then it clicked. I always pass a Costco on my way home from dance. Problem solved: I'll run in real quick and be home having a glass of wine and delicious nachos in no time.
I turn into the Costco parking lot and rush to find a parking spot. I think to myself, "Man, this place is busy!" I hurry out of my car and scan the building, only to realize that the front entrance is no where in sight. A couple gets out of their car a few rows over, so I decide to follow them--it was clearly not their first trip to Costco. Without seeming creepy, I walk closely behind them to the other side of the building to the entrance, where they are stopped by a Costco employee. Frustrated that I was held up, I scurry around them and make my way through the store.
I see everything from diapers to TV's to huge boxes of cereal. "Where the hell is the dairy section in this place?" I think to myself, or possibly say out loud, I can't be sure. Finally, all the way in the back of the store (the biggest grocery store I've ever been in!) I see the familiar sight of a grocery store refrigerator. I find the cheese section--the endless stock of cheese. All I wanted was a bag of shredded cheese to top off my nachos. No such luck. So I settle for a big brick of mozzarella cheese (hopefully we have a shredder at home). At this point, I'm so frustrated and annoyed with the complexity of this place that I just want to pay for my cheese and get the hell out of there (that glass...or bottle...of wine is sounding even better by the minute).
I stand in line for what seems like hours. Everyone has carts piled high with everything you could imagine--like the world is ending and your survival depends on how much crap you can leave Costco with. It's finally my turn. I set my measly brick of cheese on the counter and the lady looks at me, as if she's waiting rest of my items.
"That's it," I say, looking back at her with the same look of sassiness she was giving me. "Your membership card," she answers. "I don't have a membership," I reply, my heart starting to pound harder as I realize I am about to look like complete idiot. "You have to have a membership to shop here," the counter lady says, looking more and more annoyed with each passing second. "Okay, how much does it cost?" "$50." "Okay, nevermind," my shaky voice replies as I set the cheese back on the counter and attempt to get to the door as fast as possible. I did manage to catch a glimpse of the guy behind me trying to hold back a smile, his cart piled high with diapers and cleaning supplies (clearly his after work assignment from his wife, but then again, I just walked into Costco trying to buy a block of cheese, so who am I to judge?). I wanted to say, "What are you looking at?" in an attempt to show complete confidence. But, obviously I knew he was looking at a naive girl who just made a complete fool of herself. I would be staring, too.
In my defense, I come from a town where you can shop wherever you damn please. I guess this is the perfect time where the common saying "You're not in Kansas anymore" comes into play. Needless to say, we didn't have cheese for our nachos.
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