Lady Tells Me to Go %[email protected]^% Myself

The lady’s kids appeared out of the mist, bearing armfuls of products gathered from the far reaches of the vast big box store. They threw their bounty into her shopping cart sitting in front of me in the checkout lane, the pile growing ever larger, before venturing off for another load.

“Excuse me!” I said brightly. She looked up from the mound of clothing, shampoo and fidget spinners.

“Hi, I picked this line after carefully evaluating the contents of each cart in each line, estimating this line to have the shortest wait between me and my car. Your kids are throwing off my calculations.”

“Really?” she smiled. “Well, gee, why don’t you go $%^&$#$*% yourself? How do you calculate that?”

3 Amazing Things You Can Buy At Costco

Costco seems to have everything, or at least everything you need that comes in a box the size of your car. But you may not know about these 3 items you can buy at Costco today.

Bacon Laundry Detergent

Why go the whole day withouth the sweet, tasty smell of bacon? With Bacon Laundry Detergent, your cravings are satisfied all day.

Jukebox Coffins

Did you know Costco sells coffins. True dat. And now you can get a coffin with a built-in jukebox so your you can listen to your favorite tunes in the afterlife.

Theme Park Vacations

Yes, you can book a theme park vacation at Costco. Not just Disneyland or Universal Orlando. Try out the Flashlight Battery Museum, The Morrissey Wailing Music Festival or the Office Supplies Parade which takes place every April 15 in Stuck Staple, RI.

What the Hell is This BS?

I try to go to the grocery store late at night. But this time, it couldn’t be helped. So there I was at a busy grocery south of OSU right around 6pm. It was packed.

I prefer the self-checkout line. It’s usually faster. But the line was seriously backed up and starting to snake around behind the regular lanes.

An older guy in a yellow suit two people behind me had enough. He started yelling at the top of his lungs, dropping F-bombs like a WWII B-52 carpet-bombing factories.

“What the hell is this bull****??!!” he yelled. (I invite you to drop the F-bombs in there where you like. Wherever you decide to put them will be right because it was every other word.)

Now, it’s not unusual to have crazy characters yelling around this store. They congregate here.

But, this guy was off the charts.

At first, people pulled back, not knowing what he might do next. Is he insane?

He kept yelling, telling the employees what they were doing wrong, dumbfounded they had let the line get so long and that no one seemed to care.

He continued barking orders and yelling at employees as if he owned the joint.

And it was working. He was so angry and emphatic, so loud and profane, the young workers started running around to escape his wrath.

Suddenly the entire store was humming with efficiency. New cashiers appeared out of thin air to open previously closed lanes.

The lines started moving. Bags filled with groceries, machines jangled and beeped, and customers rushed out to their cars, just happy to be out of the chaos. The logjam began to loosen up.

The f***s kept coming, flying through the air before pounding the ground like thousands of hailstones bouncing off a country road during a summer storm in Texas.

He turned to me. “See, they were just being f-bomb lazy!”

“Well, your method is working. Are you in the grocery business?”

“Nah, I’m a chef.”

Something tells me he has things under control in the kitchen.

The $3.44 Golf Hat Without a Tag

Walking through Big Box Mart on my way to check out, I spied a display of golf caps at the end of an aisle.

The worn-out hat on my head called for a replacement, somebody to come in off the bench and relieve it of the hat duty it had come to despise.

I listened to its pleas, and chose a simple, plain, no logo, black hat with an open mesh back perfect for the hot weather of the coming summer. I clutched it in my hand with the other items and headed for the checkout.

I usually go to self check-out, but that was not an option as it was blocked by empty shopping carts. There were no other checkout lanes available in the huge store save one.

It was 230am, and while there weren’t many people in the store at that hour, they love to shop for everything they need. In the wee hours, no one is fighting them for the last box of Cap’n Crunch, so they take the time to fill carts to the brim. I had to wait in line forever.

Once at the front, my few items went quickly until the cashier got to my hat.

He sighed when he realized there was no tag.

I sighed when I realized there was no tag.

Bad things happen at Big Box Mart when your item doesn’t have a tag.

“It’s $3.44,” I offered cheerily, as I had just come from the display and remembered the amount exactly.

In my days as a cashier back in the mists of time, when an inexpensive item like this hat came to the register without a tag, there were general codes we could use to ring up the purchase and keep the line moving. In this case, the cashier, who appeared to be new on the job, decided to fight the good fight and figure it out on his own.


He punched at buttons valiantly, but nothing was working. Finally, an older lady appeared and asked him if he needed some help. He told her he didn’t know how to run the Price Override.

“It’s $3.44,” I said again helpfully. “I just came from the display, and I guarantee that’s the price.”

“Sir, it is not that I don’t believe you,” said the new cashier.

“Oh, I don’t think you don’t believe me. It just sounded like you needed the price to ring it up,” I said.

The older lady stepped in, punched in the elusive Price Override code, and went about her business.

He was relieved.

I was relieved.

Everybody in the now growing line behind me was relieved.

Soon I would be wearing my new simple, plain, no logo, black golf hat on the drive home.


Again he punched the buttons over and over, like he was trying to figure out the combination of a safe in a Las Vegas heist movie. The beads of sweat began to gather on his forehead, slowly rolling down to the tip of his nose.

“I can run back and get another one just like it if it helps,” I said.

“No, sir,” he said. “You don’t have to do that.”


The older lady again appeared, as if entering from another time-space continuum.

“Still need some help?” she said to the man punching buttons.

“I don’t know the department,” he said.

After some conversation, she asked me, “What department did you buy this in?”

“Men’s clothing. You know, where they have all the shirts and pants and stuff.”

She said to the man, “I don’t know what department code that is.”

They looked at me as if I knew what the department code was. I can tell you I did not know then what the department code was, never knew what the department code was, and still don’t know what the department code is.

“Look, the hat was just a spur of the moment purchase as I was walking toward the register. Really, I don’t need another golf hat. You can just set it to the side, take it off my list of items, finish out my sale and that’s fine.”

“No, we’ll figure it out,” the man said.

“I can run back and get another one with a price tag,” I again offered.

“No, I’ll do it,” the man said.

He set out at snail’s pace, shuffling toward the men’s clothing. My Lord, son, put a little giddyup in your get-go! I’m going to be here all night. I sprinted ahead of him, calling out, “Let me show you where they are.”

We returned to the cash register.

The line now snaked around the main aisle behind the registers, sneaking past the sunglasses and costume jewelry, edging into the grocery department near the granola bars and boxes of cupcakes made to look like baseballs.


The tumblers turned, and the safe finally unlocked.

The sale was complete.

“Thank you for shopping at Big Box Mart,” the man said without a smile. “Hope that didn’t take too long.”

I entered the store at midnight. As I left, I saw the sun rising in the east.

Nah, didn’t take too long at all.

Hey, is that a Timex there?

Thing I learned today: John Mayer is a watch collector and has been a judge for this high-falutin’ competition called The Grand Prix d’Horlogerie de Genève.

Can you imagine the pressure on what you have on your wrist at that show?

“What kind of watch do you have there?”

“Oh, it’s a Timex.”


“How about you?”

“Oh, this is nothing. It’s an Audemars Piguet ‘Royal Oak Concept Supersonnerie.'”

“What did that set you back?”

“It’s worth about $295,000.”


“Do you have the Velcro with the DEEP HOOKS?”

The office supply store staff was unusually upbeat for a weekday morning, just a few minutes after store opening. I sensed a “visit from corporate” was under way. Everyone on the floor was scurrying about.

My instincts were right. I saw a man in a three-piece suit patrolling the area between the service desk and the computer printers. As I came into his line of sight, he stepped toward me.

“Good morning, sir,” he said extra loud and assertively. “Can I help you find anything?” As he spoke, I could see him surveying the staff to see if they were watching him.

“Do you have any of those Velcro loop strips? Like for bundling cable? The heavy duty kind – with the deep hooks.”

“Yes, sir! Right this way!” he shouted.

I followed as he strutted between the aisles toward the back of the store.

He made a grand gesture to the office supplies wall. “Right here, sir! Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asked, looking around to see if there were any employees in the area who could learn from his skills.

“Cool, uh no, this is good. Let me look over what you have here. Thanks.”

He was gone in a flash, and I turned to the Velcro products on offer.

For months, I have been looking for more heavy duty Velcro loops. I had about 15 of them, and used them all the time. They gripped like iron, and I used them everywhere. It’s like having Duct tape you can use over and over again.

But I couldn’t find the super-gripping, extra-sticky, heavy-duty kind anywhere.

And I didn’t see any in the office supply section, either. Sure, they had Velcro loops, with a tapered end on one side and a hole in the other end, but they were “normal” Velcro.

I walked back toward the exit on my way out.

The manager saw me and talk-shouted, “Did you find them??!!”

“Oh, thanks, yeah, I saw the loop things. I was looking for the heavy-duty kind.”

“Those ARE the heavy-duty kind, sir,” he said with some exasperation.

“Right, I hear ya, I mean the REALLY heavy-duty kind. With the deep hooks.”

“Sir, are you sure you found the RIGHT ONES?” he said, like I was shirking my job.

Was he going to give me a 30-day warning?

“Yes, the product you have SAYS ‘Heavy Duty’ on the package, but those are really ‘Light Duty.’”

“Sir, I KNOW the products!” He was starting to turn red.

“Well, I consider myself an expert on Velcro,” I said laughing. “I’m the Velcro king of California!”

He didn’t smile. Not a grin.

“I want the kind with the really DEEP HOOKS. The kind that can lift a bowling ball off the ground,” I said. “the good stuff – the kind that, had Michael Corleone had access to it, he would have attached the gun to the back of the toilet in the bathroom with it — you know, when he takes out Sollozzo and McCluskey. Velcro so strong that when you pull them apart, you really have to tug, and they make a tearing sound like, ‘Kkkkkkkkkkkkkkqqqqqq.’ The brand you have a has a soft, muffled noise that sounds like, “fffffffffftttt.’”

His face got flush and he paced faster, adding a slight stomp to each foot step that echoed in the empty store.

“You know what I mean?”

He didn’t answer, turning to walk away, saying over his shoulder, “Sir, thank you for shopping at our store.”

I wonder if I am on probation?

Hi Honey, I’m At Herculean Hippo!

Courtesy USDA
Courtesy USDA

What’s the obsession with large animals for grocery store names in Columbus? When I lived here, one store was called “Big Bear”, now it’s “Giant Eagle.”

What’s next? “Honey, do you need anything, I’m stopping by Colossal Crustacean.”

“Hey guys, were getting all the stuff for the tailgate party. Who wants to come with us to Mammoth Moose?”

“Kid, can you pick up some milk and bread at Herculean Hippo?”