I don’t trust Costco. This is different from me not believing in the Easter Bunny or trickle-down economics. Obviously, Costco is a real place and I can even understand why it works for some people. I heard about the giant wheels of crepes and Asiago cheese, the great deals on toilet paper and electronics, and the cheap gas. I just don’t trust Costco to work for me without changing my life in a way I’m not willing to accept.
Just like the shelves, let’s start here.
I live in a cabin that’s about 1,000 square feet. If you see it, you’ll say, “Wow, cute!” and start looking around for closets, cupboards, storage cabinets, and more. You’ll be disappointed because there aren’t any. You’ll see tons of white curtains hanging just to hide my flimsy shelves, and the open shelves hold some very tasteful neutral-colored crockery, maybe four bowls and four plates in total. There are blankets and pillows everywhere. I bought the tablecloths, vases, and leather poufs in Morocco, even though I could probably get them here for half the price. All of this is to train your eyes away from the fact that my house is basically an empty shell with wooden walls and sunlight and an inexplicable tree trunk in the middle. I like it. When I wake up in the morning, I make coffee, find a patch of sunshine, look around and think, “Wow. Lovely.
But storage space is indeed at a premium, and could storage space be used to purchase extra items that come in big boxes? Didn’t happen. Even though buying these giant boxes might save me a few dollars and cents, I’m not going to radically redesign my house to accommodate them—or, God forbid, move.
Instead, I just buy regular sized items and use them until I’m done. Then, when I’ve freed up enough precious cupboard space for them again, I’ll hit the store and buy the more regular sizes.
My friends are worried about me. They were disappointed that I didn’t get the best deal on the cold cuts. They worry that I’ll never get to enjoy the unique flavor of a Costco hot dog as I wander the wide aisles with my membership card in hand, ready to roll the dice to see what’s in my shopping cart. Is today the day I buy in bulk Kirkland brand sweatshirts for the whole family? Will I end up buying all the ingredients for a homemade charcuterie board? bridgeton? Answer: It won’t happen.
These friends, although fully indoctrinated into admiring Costco, had good intentions and protested my rational reasoning that I simply didn’t have enough room in the pantry to store 16 cans of chicken noodle soup. In fact, I don’t even have a pantry. I was told to buy a shelving system from Ikea to store my imaginary items, and have random items in my bedroom just for the sake of future bagged cheese and 10 pound bags of rice ideas. A friend who also lives in a small space proudly told me that she bought a new bed that has just enough space under it to store these items. But I don’t want to fall asleep with dozens of bottles of ketchup.
You might think that opening a Costco would be a great idea when I was raising four boys on my own. Even then, you and all my friends were wrong. I think Costco is a great organization and I’m always happy when someone takes me shopping with them for an afternoon. I was like a dog excited about a ride, excited to come over and see what my people were doing today. I played with that giant Asiago wheel and toilet paper with my friends.
I’m just not willing to build a bunker on my property to store stuff I’ll buy at Costco one day. Sorry, Costco.
Jane McGuire is a contributing writer for Romper and Scary Mommy. She lives in Canada with her four boys and teaches life writing workshops where someone cries in every class. When she’s not traveling as much, she tries to organize pie parties and outdoor karaoke with her neighbors. She will sing Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” at least once, but she’s open to requests.
