I knew where we were going, so I didn’t have to rely on clues you see when driving. My impression is that this Costco is at the end of a street which has nothing much else to attract attention. All I know is that when you get there and turn right into the parking lot, you’ve arrived.

Parking is always an issue, because everybody goes to Costco. Especially now in the Christmas season. People are buying up everything before prices go up after the first of the next year in a couple weeks.

The typical drive around for parking. Cars waiting, blocking the aisles, blinkers going, hovering while people unload their carts and drive away to leave their parking space open and immediately filled.

We drove around the blinking waiters and found a lucky empty space we filled immediately.

Chaz brought a shopping cart so I wouldn’t need my walking poles, and we were off to the entrance.

Like bees around a hive, shoppers coming with empty carts, passing those leaving, pushing the very overfull carts which are a trademark of the Costco parking lot.

Immediately, upon entrance, after scanning the membership card, we were engulfed in expanded displays. This is the time of year when stores sell the most, this year especially with a happy urgency.

We had our list. Chaz has it on his phone, and can check off items as we find them and put them in the cart I’m pushing.

Not first on the list, but first to encounter, wine. Lots of choices. Chaz chose a vintage from France, then another bottle, checking the prices. He chuckled and pointed out a locked case at the end of the row, with wines ranging from hundreds of dollars to several thousand. We could see the bottles through the plastic glass.

My twisted mind, from watching all those heist caper movies, devised a scenario where the dapper robber takes a bottle of the cheaper wine, unlocks the case because, being a thief, he’s good with locks, takes the bottle going for $24,000, carefully peels the price tag with practiced fingernails, swaps the price tag of the cheap wine, puts the re-priced cheap bottle back in the case and locks it, puts the outrageously expensive wine in the basket, now labeled $6.99.

At the cash register, the overworked clerk scans the bottle and the evil thief takes his prize to his car and drives away. Just like in the movies, where they steal jewels.

My evil mind extends the scenario. A very rich man with money to burn buys the cheap wine with the expensive label, takes it home to his mansion and shares it with his rich friends at the party, and, like typical wealthy, they all say, “Mmm…worth every penny!”

But I’d better not mention it, because I don’t want to give anyone ideas.

We started filling the cart with listed items. I was assigned to choose the tomatoes, a box of on-the-vine, looking red and ripe and juicy. We’ll see how they turn out, because agribusiness these days grows for appearance and sells by the look.

Cucumbers, pack of three. You can’t buy just one. That’s Costco, buy in bulk. Chaz was looking for gold potatoes, couldn’t find them, settled for a bag of red thin skin. A little later, as we were heading for the meat, he saw a guy pushing a cart that had a bag of gold potatoes. A conversation led to the guy’s recommendation, “Go back, you have to look really hard.”

So Chaz went back and looked really hard. No luck. The other guy must have bought the last bag. People were tearing open boxes at the bottom of the stack to check the contents, trying to find what they were looking for.

We thought of asking an employee if they had some in the back, but the employees were running around in other parts of the store, so it was decided that thin red skin potatoes were just fine.

While Chaz was looking at the bagels, I drifted toward the free samples, a major reason I came along. They were out in force today, holiday season, weekend. I tried everyone. Three kinds of cheese with a little lecture explaining the variations of sheep and goat.

And three choices of Thai food, try all three. And ham, one of the basic food groups, spiral sliced. And a generous bite of sausage, heated. And and and.

Sometimes we actually hunted down the item we sampled, and put it in the cart, which was getting heavier and heavier, harder and harder to push. Going back past the sample station whose product we included in our horde, I might say, in friendly support, “They should give you a bonus because we’re buying what you offered,” and they might say, “No, but that’s a good idea.”

At the holiday season, everybody is in a good mood. People load their carts, thinking of the coming dinner, often a cultural variant because Costco carries the fixings for many traditions.

Native costumes mingle and pass each other in the aisles. The gentleman in a turban admonishes his children to behave. The family dressed in flowing robes, chooses frozen packages. The woman dressed south of the border loads mole sauce into her cart. Families crossing carts, inspecting the contents, say, “We fix _____ this way,” “We have ____ every year.”

And we look at yogurt, choosing Greek. I caress the meatballs in passing. We select a ham, wrapped and ready. We remember the blog post made immortal where I display my great method acting ability by assaulting a ham bone with vociferous growls.

People are happy to talk, opening a window to their lives. Costco is democracy in action.

We get to the check out. The two Christmas wreaths are separate on top. We load the conveyor belt. We point out the items on the bottom rack of the cart, the box of beer, Modelo Negra. The dishwashing soap. The two-gallon-pack of milk.

I don’t want to distract the cashier with a joke as she scans the items. Then, at a pause, I try the usual: “This is a dangerous store! I want everything!” and, “At least you don’t offer the Trader Joe’s Weight Loss Program.” “No, I don’t think so. What’s that?” “That’s where they come to your house and eat the food for you. You’re guaranteed to lose weight.”

“Ha ha.”

My credit card did its magic. Chaz estimated, “Close to a thousand (dollars). It’s the Christmas season.”

My copy of the receipt, only $723.00. Only?!

Pushing the cart toward the exit line, passing the fast food take out, chairs and tables, the big sign advertising the special, “hot dog and a drink, $1.50″ Chaz said, “Maybe someday, but I always passed on it because I don’t want the drink.” I said, generously, “I’ll drink it for you.”

Then, almost at the exit, the girl who loaded the cart ran up and said, “She (the cashier) thinks she missed the milk.” A quick check of the receipt, then over to a register for the additional $6.99, “2 whole milk.” Cheap at half the price.

Then through the door, the verifying pen swiping the receipt, pushing the heavy cart to the car, the bad joke, “This should last for a few days,” counting the meals.

Then back home by way of the scenic route, arrival, Chaz assigned to unload the car as I carried my walking poles up the stairs.

The conquering heroes return, and I rushed to my chair to grab my pen and write this down.