I have to confess that I hate shopping. I can always think of a million better things I could be doing with my time. And that hatred extends to grocery shopping.
I used to not mind it so much, but I think some of what life has handed me over the years has influenced my disdain for going to the grocery store. When my late mom — who loved to shop, browse, and linger — got sick in the 2010s, I found myself having to spend more and more time either taking her to the store or shopping for her. Then, in 2019, my dad also suffered some health issues, and suddenly I had two sick people to care for with two very special diets to follow, and I felt like I was going to Publix or Kroger every single day, on top of taking care of two households, handling two people's urgent medical needs and appointments, and working full-time and trying to have a life.
I used to pray for something to come along and stop me from having to go to the grocery store. Then the pandemic happened. That's not exactly what I had in mind, but who am I to question God's plan?
My mom was not a fan of delivery services — “I want to pick out my own produce,” she’d say whenever I suggested she try it — but given that we were facing the unknown and, at this point, she was dealing with lung and kidney failure, and my dad was recovering from open-heart surgery and sepsis that nearly killed him, we turned to Instacart and Sam's Clubdelivery. That might have been the best thing that ever happened to me. With a handful of exceptions, I didn't step foot into a grocery store for years.
But in late 2024, life, as it does, took a turn. In the span of a few months, I lost nearly every single source of income and found myself with some hefty out-of-the-ordinary bills to pay. It was time to cut back on some luxuries, and Instacart and my Sam's Club membership were some of the first things to go. I missed both terribly and vowed to come back to them.
In the meantime, Costco built a store in the county next to mine. All of my friends and family joined and obsessed over it. I'll admit that I was intrigued for that reason, but also — and don't laugh — because there's this already-cooked grass-fed beef sirloin I used to buy at Sam's, but they stopped selling it. I saw online that Costco had it. What can I say? I'm a sucker for healthy food that I don't have to cook. At some point last year, I promised myself that once I felt more financially stable, I'd get my Costco membership and try that instead of Sam's when I was ready to rejoin the world.
Last Tuesday evening, I finally did it. I applied and paid online, and I started searching the website to see what all I could buy. I pictured myself leisurely strolling the aisles, throwing all the beef into my buggy. A couple of my friends were joking about my enthusiasm for Wednesday, which we dubbed "Costco Day." It's rare that I get excited about shopping.
The next day, I got up and drove the 20 or so miles to get there, and when I arrived, I wondered if I was in the wrong place. I knew it was big, but I didn't know it was that big... I've seen them in passing, but I guess I've never paid that much attention. Or perhaps this new one is larger than the older Costcos I see? Whatever the case, it wasn't exactly what I expected. It took me several minutes to drive around and find the entrance and a place to park.
First things first, I had to go pick up my membership card. I thought it would take all of five minutes for me to sign something and them to print it out. Boy, was I wrong. There was a kind of dumpy, older lady at the counter, but when I approached, this tall, dark, and handsome gentleman walked up and asked if he could help me. Physically, he looked like he'd just stepped away from a Navy SEAL recruitment ad, and he had the charm of a man who has probably talked a lot of women, and maybe some men, into buying stuff they didn't need.
I swear they did that on purpose, because I was a lot more patient with him than I would have been with the woman. At least, at first. After half an hour of trying to upsell and talking about everything from insurance to buying furniture and taking pictures and downloading apps and looking through paperwork and sales ads, I was ready for him to just close his pretty little mouth so I could just go find my beef sirloin. About 45 minutes in, he finally shut up and sent me off with a parting gift — a bag of snacks and coupons.
I had to exit and re-enter the store, and when I did, all I could think was: where did all these people come from? It was a Wednesday afternoon in the middle of April. This place should not be this crowded. After following the flow of people for a moment — I really had no other choice — I finally decided that today was not "check out the entire store" day. I just wanted to find my beef. But they make that nearly impossible. The food is so far in the back of the store that you must first walk through aisles of everything from clothing to kayaks. I admit that I did actually stop when I walked past the pool supplies. They had some of the chemicals I use for much cheaper than what I pay for them elsewhere.
When I finally made it to the food area, I browsed a little and put a few things in my buggy (hello, three boxes of Boursin for $10), and I walked up and down every crowded aisle in the fresh food area, but I couldn't find my beef. I finally gave up and stopped to ask someone who was handing out samples for help. I even pulled up a picture on my phone. He had no idea where it was and didn't seem particularly inclined to help. In the meantime, unsupervised kids were bumping into me because the grown adults with them were practically climbing over me to get to this man's teriyaki meatball samples first, like it was some sort of contact sport.
I circled around one more time with no luck, and I finally just gave up. I'll have to figure it out when this place isn't so crowded and come back later, I told myself.
As I was starting on my journey back to the front of the store, I walked past the sample guy again, but this time I looked at the end cap behind him. There in all its glory was my already-cooked, grass-fed beef sirloin. Hallelujah! I grabbed a package and walked the 19 miles back to the registers, where I had to listen to some guy talk to everyone and anyone who would listen about how his parents don't understand him while he rang people up.
Of course, I had to walk past the service desk on the way out, and while, at this point, I was exhausted, I practically ran to the door so Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome wouldn't make eye contact. I couldn't deal with that again. By the time I got into my car, I ripped open the bag of snacks and downed the water and granola bar like I'd just come out of the wilderness. This was not the Costco experience I'd dreamed about on Tuesday night.
I realize millions of people do this every day without incident. I am not one of them.
I needed to go to Publix after, but I decided shopping time was over for the day. I'd just return to the house and use Instacart. A few days later, I hadn't even touched the beef or the Boursin, but I did come down with a nasty cold, which I'm pretty sure I picked up while I was packed into that building with half of metro Atlanta.
In all seriousness, I should have known that Costco is not a "me" kind of place. The only thing I hate more than shopping is shopping in a crowded store. Plus, and I know I've mentioned this here before, after I began traveling to Costa Rica fairly regularly, I sometimes found myself back in the U.S. at these big box stores wondering why in the world we need all this stuff. I'd rather go buy my fruit at a roadside farmers market than have to walk past 160,000 square feet of gizmos and gadgets to get to it every any day of the week.
Apparently, I'm not alone in this way of thinking. There's a phenomenon called "Costco anxiety" that a Google search tells me many people have experienced and written about. It's not that there's anything wrong with Costco. It's just that it's not for everyone. As for me, I'm going to give it a second chance at some point. The membership will save me some money on some products in the long run, which is nice... but I have a feeling I'll be ordering most of them online.
