The Fault in Our Supermarkets

Photo by Clark Young

Tonight was the 11th night of the victory tour known as “Liz returns to Melbourne” or as I like to call it “Just another night trying not to get stabbed in the backstreets of the suburbs.” Tonight was a big night. The men of the house were all away, which meant it was girl’s night out for Mumsy and I. So naturally, we went grocery shopping.

It was the kind of night that called for a Costcursion (a term coined by a friend which clearly means an excursion to Costco).

For those of you who haven’t experienced Costco in all it’s glory it is essentially a whopping big supermarket that sells everything you never knew you needed in bulk. Like that years supply of jelly beans you gave your family friend at that awkward Christmas. It’s the kind of place that I really feel I should drive my minivan to, before stepping out with my ralph lauren polo-shirt wearing husband and the twins in their tennis gear, truly becoming the pretentious soccer mum I was destined to be.

Upon walking into Costco, Mum and I like to establish our dominance over the other shoppers by loudly exclaiming things like “I wonder how many bodies you can fit in this freezer” and referring to all the shop assistants by their name tags by shouting in patronizing tones “Oh the massage chairs are in aisle ten are they Angela? Thankyou ever so much Angela!”

As I said before Costco is really great for bulk buying. You know you’re doing it right when you realise the most expensive thing you bought was the 14 pack of razors. Even if you and Mum both agree the bikini trimmer looks more like an ancient torture weapon. Anyway the packet says they’re supposed to bring out the inner goddess in me. My beard may be gone but I’m still waiting for the goddess part.

On another note, its also fun to walk through the giant warehouse proudly carrying your three years supply of tampons. In case having a crime scene in your pants every month wasn’t embarrassing enough. Ps can’t believe us females are still paying for this crap but oh well.

And finally the last game to play at Costco at the checkout is looking at other people’s trolleys and wondering “Are they having a party, or is there life really that sad that they need 32 packets of hot jam donuts?”

Of course after we bought our four items we ran to coles to buy the things we really needed. Costco is fun but nothing beats a good old self-serve checkout. Especially when your mum insists on chirping “You’re welcome” every single time after it thanks, us once again for shopping at coles.

Maybe next week I’ll convince her we really did need that blackforest cake that feeds 45. Maybe.


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