Costco

“Ev’rything free in America, for a small fee in America!” — Stephen Sondheim’s great lyrics from Westside Story perfectly capture how I felt this afternoon as I plunked down fifty bucks for the privilege of shopping in bulk for stuff I don’t need from a crowded warehouse. I was renewing my membership in Costco, having just spent the past year wolfing down Boursin and tubs of humus bought  by the caseload. Buy in bulk, save money. But what family of three (plus one enormous cat) needs sixteen 32 oz bottles of ketchup? Will a thirty-two pack of shop towels be used before I pass this mortal coil? Will my hubby really buy my next high-end jewelry item from Costco’s glittering jewelry showcase?

Ok, I readily confess, we need Costco like a hole in the head. I make a tea bag last for two days and then I use it to reduce eyelid puffiness. But it is so much darn fun to shop there. It is exciting to see an aisle of radial tires that will fit my ‘03 Harley FXDWG Dyna Wide Glide side by side with boxes of Barbie Peek-a-Boo Petites dolls. I could get Motorcycle Barbie and Biker Boy Ken. It is cool to wander through the light bulb section and at its end see how the merchandisers seamlessly transition from halogen bulbs to a clearance of last year’s holiday wrapping paper. Turning each corner is a pleasant surprise waiting to happen.

Well, not always pleasant. The large sign on the floor next to the display canoe has a footprint on it and the canoe is either taking on water or some child has peed in it. We don’t want a canoe anyway (however, if there had been kyaks that might have been a different story). I always avoid the grape aisle. For some reason Costco shoppers feel it is perfectly acceptable to test taste the grapes and if they prove inferior to spit them out on the floor. The grape aisle is squishy, but nothing compared to the areas around the food sampling stations. A) it is very nice that they give out little samples of pesto glazed squid sushi and B) customers should not plan their day around have a full course luncheon at Costco and then hurl the pesto glazed squid sushi ten steps away in the maxi pad aisle. Disgusting.

I always check out Costco’s locked glass display cases which house the luxury items. Today there was a wide assortment of cut crystal figurines beginning at $89 and going up to the several hundreds. I quickly checked out the Norman Rockwell collectible porcelain figurine collection but then spotted the handbags. And you know it is all about handbags for me. There were two dusty and tired looking bags on the bottom shelf, both with leather fringe a la hippy style. Each was over $400 and I did not recognize the designer. Despite this disappointment, I have gotten excellent deals on Coach bags at Costco. It is like getting a scratch ticket. You just might win something and it does not cost much to take a look since I am here anyway. And hey, I have just put over $200 worth of mixed nuts and joint supplements in my shopping cart. What is $400 more?

Leaving Costco is like leaving a  country with which we have tenuous foreign relations. Two burly (but somewhat aged) women stop each cart and demand to see your receipt. They then scan your cart against your receipt to make sure you actually paid for that eight-pack of Viagralike. Having passed the honesty test you are allowed to leave the premises and trundle your loose goods to your car. We are season Costco shoppers so we know enough to bring our own Green-friendly reusable waxed Trader Joe’s shopping bags. We package our stuff, stow it in the trunk (except for the 64 oz mixed nuts which comes in the front seat for immediate consumption), and sound our fog horn so that they sea of shoppers will part long enough for us to back our car out and zip down the parking lot before the fellow behind us shoots into our barely vacant space.

Once home we face the “Costco Dilemma” — where the heck do we put this stuff. For now it is on the floor in the kitchen. I’ll rearrange the pantry tomorrow and throw out some of those ancient ketchup bottles that have been there forever. That stuff can’t possibly be good any more.

Social Networking

Ah technology. It has made it possible for us to instantly connect with our fellows sharing similar interests across the globe. My work has a social networking technology for its employees. I love it when a screen pops up and I see a picture of a strange man from a distant land. He says “Hi.” I look closely at the tiny photo and check out the name and location — Vlad from Wallachia sales office. I type back a hesitant “Hi”.

And thus the awkward phase of social networking is over and let the fun begin. “Hello. I mostly enjoying reading your profile page and liked your photo. May I hook up with you?” “Ah, Vlad, I think the correct term is Connect with me. Yes, you may add me as a connection. I will go check out your profile page.” Vlad’s page features a picture of his home office — a somewhat sparse looking room apparently decorated in faux stone (actually pretty good faux, the moss on the stone is a nice touch). Below the photo is a blurb about his current non-work activities and interests:

“I take work/life balance seriously. I used to work 24 7 but found myself dead on my feet at the end of the day. Now I have the energy to do volunteer work — I manage our local Red Cross blood bank. I believe giving back to the community is our obligation. When I am not doing my volunteer service I love to read — Anne Rice is my favorite author but I also like Victorian romances (I hate to admit!). To round things out I have a web site fan club devoted to Sarah Michelle Gellar — all time most radical sexy chick on the planet! Things I hate: scampi, going to the beach, cross-bows.”

Vlad looks harmless enough — we both like Anne Rice and dislike going to the beach. I check out his other friends and am curious enough about one to click on her profile: “Mina”. Her photo is just a badly sketched drawing of an animae type girl with super long fingernails dripping with droplets (of blood?!). Her blurb says “Graduate of Miss Pauline’s School for Lost Souls”. How very theatrical. Well, it takes all kinds. I notice she has on her friends list “Paul — software executive.”

I lookup Paul. I recognize the face. I think he used to be in a cube near mine about fifteen years ago when we both worked at Iris. His blurb just says “Recently left sw industry to join HR as a head-hunter.”

I delete my profile page.

Windows

Eighty-four percent of the people reading the title of this post will automatically assume that it is going to be about the Microsoft operating system. They would be wrong. This post is about the real thing, the original, the fenestra of defenestrating, the stuff paned with purple glass in ye olde days and now suffused with green-friendly gases and adorned with faux eight over eights — the, ah, window.

My husband and I used to be yuppies. We lived in a fancy condo in Boston’s Back Bay overlooking the Charles River. Our windows had custom-made interior shutters. True, we only had four windows, but they were top of the line and we still had enough ready cash to buy a latte. The picture is different today — we had the requisite child, moved to the burbs, bought a fixer with location, location, location, diligently improved our asset each year (new roof, landscaping, pavered walkway, new terrace, new flooring, water-heater…you get the picture. This year we decided to go for broke (and I do mean that in the saddest possible way) and get all new windows. Our house has twenty-six windows. Ca-ching!

First came the cold call from Andersen Windows that started it all. Boy we made someone happy. “Yes, we are thinking about purchasing windows instead of retiring. Yes, we would love to have you sit in our dining room lovingly going through your hi-tech, multimedia presentation. Yes, we are eager to fondle the product and sneer at the competitions’ shoddy vinyl. And most especially, yes, we have the money. (Or so we thought. How much could windows cost anyway?). The Andersen rep showed up on time and within an hour was passing a piece of paper to us on which he had just pencilled a silent “$29, 600″ — just like at the car dealership. Except I have never spent close to $30 grand on a car. I excused myself and went into the kitchen to take in some deep breaths. While I was regaining oxygen I heard my spouse say “No payments for a year?”

We signed on the dotted line. Our future in exchange for tilt-in, easy to clean windows. Custom-made windows — of course our house did not have standard sized windows, what, are we punters or something? Six weeks before delivery. Two days, maybe three to install. A lifetime of blissful happiness guaranteed. I have to tell you that our experience with Andersen Windows was fantastic — they got a ten out of ten on their rating report. The best thing about our new windows is that I can see out of them — I had no idea how shabby our old windows were until I had the comparison. I have refused to put up window treatments because I love looking at my investment so much (and because I am lazy).

For vacation this year, Lorne and I are going on one of those seven places in seven days tours. First stop will be the master bathroom where we will enjoy an intimate and close-up view of our 21″ by 43″ easy glide-open window. Then a stop in the bedrooms where we will take the plunge and actually tilt-in a window or two. The living room will be our longest stop since we plan on fufilling our livelong dream of viewing mold and mildew free panes. Pics and a write-up will be posted.

We had the three-day grace period in which we could have cancelled our order. I am glad we did not. We will get back 100% of our investment when we sell. In the meantime, I no longer have to go to weather.com to find out if it is a sunny day. A new window is wonderful to behold.