I’m writing this because I have more to say about COSTCO. There are many words available, and I haven’t run out yet.

We went there today.

Even on the way over, chatting with Chaz, I broached the speculation, “I wonder, driving through town, if I hadn’t been prior informed, at what point would I know we were going to COSTCO?” As the other possibilities slip away, the probability rises, but not until the turn into the entrance do they rise above 99%.

Chaz said, “Even then, you still don’t know whether you’re heading to check the air pressure in the tires, or to park and go inside for the food.”

“How true,” I assented in agreement, “How true.”

I do so like being with people who “get it,” and don’t let their minds stop there.

So, past the border guards who check your identity and purpose, into the store with the shopping cart I pushed from the parking lot so I could lean on it and not need my walking poles.

Then the usual, a quick check of the list, and the always satisfying stimulation, because it’s gathering together the food for the week, maybe two weeks, maybe three.

And I was hungry from the breakfast I didn’t eat, partly because I knew or hoped fervently that there are or would be food samples at the end of select aisles, for me always a major reason to come to COSTCO.

We had a list, or Chaz did on his phone, ready for clarification if we needed it, or to approve a substitute if the listed item was unavailable. Kristina was home near her phone.

I tried invoking a line that I think I invented and have quoted several times before: “They may not have everything you want, but they have everything you need, and then some.” The “and then some” refers to new discoveries, things COSTCO is trying out, sometimes food invented by juxtaposition of disparate cultures. They manufacture examples. If I can remember at least one, I’ll mention it.

So we began the search. This time it was bananas. Couldn’t find even one. They had boxes marked bananas, but they contained plantains. Those look about the same as bananas, very good fried properly, but they’re not bananas, so the list was imperfectly completed because we passed on the plantains.

I found a bag of acceptable garlic after curating twenty or thirty possibilities. Chaz sought my approval on the tomatoes.

It’s a thrill to look at food, knowing its future.

They have clothing at COSTCO – pants, shorts, shirts, socks. I have some, so, no.

And of course the famous COSTCO jumbo economy size. If you want a single item, you have to buy a pack of twelve or twenty four.

If you want a little bottle of something, you buy two gallons, joined, and get your exercise lifting and pouring, trying not to spill a drop.

And, O happy day! There were free samples! I patronized every one and spread my usual sweetness and light with enthusiastic words. That’s what I do, and sometimes (I admit it) I overdo it. I know I get too extravagant, but I’m convincingly sincere (it’s my great acting ability) and it lets me get away with saying things I do want to say.

“I love this store! It’s dangerous! I want everything! And so clever, the way you move everything around so I have to scour the whole store to find what I’m looking for, in the process discovering new things that are not on my list, but I just have to try them. Such ingenious market management! Such insight into the customer’s psyche!” (And pockets.)

And COSTCO is a continual show. It’s the crossroads of the world as the cultures and traditions cross paths, mingle. I see people from different backgrounds reaching for the same item. “No, go ahead.” “No, you were first.” “Oh look, there’s another one.”

Two men in turbans were pushing a flat-bed carrier, loading large containers of cooking oil and a large stack of great bags of sugar. I almost asked them where their restaurant is, but I stopped myself because they may just have a large family.

Draped women with covered heads were buying the latest products even I had never heard of.

Some people were pushing carts with children in them. I said, “Are they selling children now? What aisle?” I played peekaboo with a little boy in the cart ahead of us in line. We in this country need to cherish and protect our children who are our future. We owe them a better world.

In the cart to our left, there was a potted tree, an actual tree. I didn’t know they had a nursery, didn’t know where it was. I thought the nursery would only have children.

At the end of some of the aisles, the samples were set up and offered by employees with cheerful professionalism. The idea is that if you try it and like it, you may buy it. One had a baked something in a little paper cup. I popped it in my mouth. Another offered a slice of gouda topped with an intricate green sauce. Wonderfully delicious as nearly all the samples are, and I rhapsodized again. “What a clever way to attract our attention by understanding the palate! By blending the classic old with the unexpected new! And presented with such responsive friendliness by the competent gifted staff who are artists of food and its presentation! Thank you for raising my standard of living!”

Did I really get that carried away? Apparently. But I meant what I said and was not insincere.

And the frequent evoked reply: “I thank you, sir, thank you very much. I’m glad you liked it. It was my pleasure to serve you. It means so much to us to hear your kind words of satisfaction. Thank you very much.”

Sometimes I would gesture toward the ceiling as if that’s where the surveillance cameras are, to be sure they recorded my response.

Sometimes I would ask an employee where something has been moved to. Sometimes even they didn’t know. Sometimes they knew and would tell me. Sometimes I would tell them when I found it.

To a woman employee standing by the aisle, I gushed, “Everyone here is so intelligent! So intellectually gymnastic!”

“Not everyone,” she said.

I answered, “I was speaking about the employees.”

“So was I,” she responded, proving my point.

The cart was filling up, getting so heavy it was hard to push, especially around corners.

When we got in line, Chaz and the cashier were unloading onto the conveyor belt, scanning the heavy items remaining in the cart. I tapped my visa on the machine, authorizing the transaction.

While the unloading and scanning was going on, I strolled across to the side counter with a fellow apparently standing on a little platform to give him a better view of the store.

“Ah, the executive branch,” I said, realizing that I’m too silly too often but don’t seem to mind it enough to tone it down more than occasionally.

“Yes,” he said, cheerfully friendly, “I’m in my little secret hideaway where I can watch my employees at their stations.”

I decided he wasn’t standing on a platform, he must indeed be the boss, or one of them, a go-to guy for problems, a real administrator. I wish we had one for the country. So I shifted my silly to another direction. “I think COSTCO should petition the Government for an Education Grant, because everybody who comes here has to make judicious choices, exercise rational thinking, improve their minds by – oh, wait, they’ve cancelled the Department of Education, so maybe you should just go for the Nobel Prize.”

He made a clever remark which I wish I could remember, then headed to a cash register to answer a call.

I got my receipt, not the longest one ever, but significantly long, and pushed the cart following Chaz to the exit.

The exit woman checked the long receipt with a quick scan of the contents of the cart. As I handed it to her, I said, “I have a long one.”

“Oh no,” she said, “you have a short one.”

“I’ve heard that before,” I said thoughtlessly.

She paused a moment, then let us pass.

We loaded the car, Chaz did, and drove home.

At home, I carried the BIG pack of toilet paper to the bottom of the stairs, then climbed to my chair and started eating.

We go to COSTCO regularly when we need to. I wish we would go more often.