What's wrong with me?
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written by Ron:
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Ron Cruger
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founded 2004 by ron cruger
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          In the next few paragraphs I’m going to tell you a secret. A big secret. But first you have to promise not to tell anyone. Promise? Okay.
          Now, I’m not a shopper. All I know about the prices of anything is that they are rising. I take a walk through our local super market and I can see that a box of oatmeal raisin cookies that used to cost $3.95 now costs $4.95. A package of cheese that used to cost $3.00 now costs $4.00. Laundry detergent that was $11.99 is now $13.99. To tell you the truth, I don’t know how a family of four or five earning thirty or forty thousand dollars a year can make it.
          But, I’m getting ahead of myself.
          Here’s my secret. I love to go to Costco.
          I don’t know when my addiction started. Must have been about ten years ago when I first moved to my present address. The local Costco store was within a fifteen minute walk. At first I’d go there and buy the necessities. You know, those giant packages of paper towels and toilet paper. Then I ventured into the gallon size jar of olives and six frozen shrimp scampi dinners. I couldn’t resist the gallon size jar of mayonnaise, even though I don’t use two cups of mayonnaise a year. I bought the mammoth gallon size jar of sweet pickle relish, but when I got it home I found that it was too big to fit in the refrigerator. Pretty soon I was getting the double loaves of bread. Then some famous maker clothes. A pair of tennis shoes. Packages of ten tubes of toothpaste. Gallon jugs of mouthwash. Packages of Gillette razor blades that should last me a year. Shampoo, enough to wash the heads of an army regiment for a year
          Then I noticed the Costco house brand – Kirkland. Kirkland juice, Kirkland milk, Kirkland clothing. I couldn’t resist the savings. I bought two gallons of Kirkland milk and I don’t drink milk. It’s just that the savings were so big.
          After the first three or four years my trips to Costco were strictly utilitarian. But little by little I was getting hooked.
          I found myself taking my morning walks, oftentimes walking to the Costco parking lot, peering longingly over my shoulder at the front entrance, noticing the Costco staffer stationed there to check Costco membership cards of the entering herds.
          Slowly, I began taking my walks and going directly to the Costco entrance – and then entering. I would wander around the grand building, noticing the bank of giant panel television sets – all showing the same sporting event. A wall of television screens.
          I was into my third year of becoming a Costco addict that I became serious about the “sample ladies.” At first I was I was a bit reluctant to grab a sample or two, but by my third year of attendance I had become a regular at the snack (sample) tables. The assortment was wondrous – Pizza, veggie burgers, chips, cheeses, tuna on crackers, yogurt, dried fruit, ice cream bars, cheesecake. The servers were polite and gracious. They looked the other way when I came back twice, maybe three times for samples.
          And whomever at Costco who thought of that outside dining area should be given a sizeable bonus and a vice presidency. A good hot dog and a drink for a buck and a half.
Excellent pizza, frozen yogurt, desserts. Goodies that keep the Costco customers happy and sitting close to the front door. You have to love a company that offers you good prices on furniture, clothing, frozen dinners and hoodies, plus great snacks. Where else can you be treated like this? Smart, but also nice.
          So, now you know my secret. I’m hooked on Costco.
          I was there today. Had samples of pizza, bread and strawberry jam, New York steak sandwiches, veggie burgers and rice crackers.
          Looked at the television sets, tested a couch, escaped the hot weather for a few minutes in the ultra cold “dairy” room, looked at the vacuums, checked out the pile of men’s jeans. Finished, I walked through the exit, over the “Blackburn Bumps” (those new things at the exits that rattle your bones when you push your cart over them).
          I continued on my walk. Out through the Costco parking lot. Down the street.
          Now you know my secret. You won’t tell anyone, will you?