I’m trying here, Costco. Really, I am. I want so much to hate you, and on paper, that should be easy. I mean, after all:
- I thought Target was bad, but YOU. You are the $8.79 (if we’re lucky) impulse-buy Green Mile.
– Flowers? Just this once… Fig bars? Almost healthy… A new bathmat? You’re right, mine IS dingy! …Electric toothbrush? Steam mop? Storage containers? Such a cute sweater! How have we lived without snowshoes?!? WHAT IF WE RUN OUT OF LIGHT BULBS??
- Speaking of impulse buys — dang if your food samplers don’t know exactly what they’re doing.
Every week, those mild-mannered grandmas, through their sample-doling-voodoo, have my 3 yo scarfing a quinoa black bean veggie patty and going back for seconds… but when I spend the $8.79 to get 30 of them in my freezer?
You guessed it: he won’t touch them with a 10 foot pole.
- No two Costco warehouses are arranged the same.
YOU GUYS, this is so annoyyyyying. And it’s made worse by the fact that…
- …you don’t label your aisles!
I mean, let’s just shoot straight, you and me.
I get it. The business-minded side of me knows why you do it, because the math is easy:
The scramble that is one Costco warehouse to the next + the lack of labeling = every patron must peruse every aisle in search of a desired product, meaning more time spent in the store and more samples consumed, therefore more impulse-buys made.
Costco, I’M ON TO YOU.
- And if that^^^ wasn’t irritating enough to realize: Your stores don’t carry the same products!
All Mama wants is those mango kale squeezy pouches and some Larabars. But alas: we find ourselves at the wrong dang Costco.
- Your hours.
You open at 10 during the week. 10! You’re like a class-skipping college kid. What’s next, Costco? A nap in the planetarium??
I have a preschooler and a baby; we’ve lived half our lives by 10. I needed you at 9… but you weren’t there for me. Sigh.
I stand by all of these… but I also know this much is true: I will not stray. I need you more than you need me. These quirks are countered by your $1.50 soda+hotdogs, your cheap gas, your quick check-outs, and your $6.99 giant bottles of Sangria. I can’t quit you. I love you, even when I hate you.
But for the love, stick some labels on the aisles.