Costco

Saturday, 22 January 2000

I had dinner at my parents' last night, and stayed over. Today they took my shopping at Costco, one of those enormous members-only bulk shopping warehouses for people with lots of storage space. I felt a bit like Robin Williams's character in Moscow on the Hudson, the Russian defector who faints when he first sees the aisels and aisles of goods in a New York supermarket. Costco is shopping for Americans -- people with cars that can haul and houses that can hold months worth of groceries, and big extended families who can eat all that food before it spoils. I bought mostly beverages and non-perishables -- a 16-pack of AAA batteries, 20 rolls of toilet paper, a big bottle of shampoo, some ginko biloba pills, Ivory soap -- but also some food items that looked useful or that I hadn't seen in my local stores -- a big bag of pre-cooked frozen shrimps, another of vegetables, a bag of a dozen rolls of a brand that I grew up eating but can't find in Brooklyn, some refrigerated soups (Legal Seafood clam chowder!), a package of pre-cooked egg rolls. I have to clear out space in my bedroom closet to store the toilet paper. And I got some cold cuts (ham, turkey) to go with the rolls.

Costco isn't necessarily cheaper than shopping other places, I found. That pack of batteries (Duracell) was about US$7.80 for 16 batteries, about 49¢ each. At the Odd Job on Union Square I saw a four-pack of Ray-O-Vac for US$1.60 -- 40¢ each. But both are cheaper than the electronics store where I used to buy batteries. (And since my parents were paying -- thanks Mom and Dad! -- comparitive shopping wasn't really the issue.)

I think one of the main attractions of Costco is the sheer spectacle of the place. It's huge! The portions are huge! Bigger is better, so obviously it must be a better place to shop, unless you're some kind of Communist or something.

I finished Interface by "Stephen Bury" (really Neal Stephenson and a relative of his) last night. It's a political techno-thriller about a presidential candidate whose brain is wired to receive direct input from an instant-update polling organization. It shows the usual Stephenson wit and flair, and if it's there's not anything in it as flat-out brilliant as the pizza-delivery scene that opens Snow Crash (though there are some really great political analysis scenes), it also ends better than his later books (excluding Cryptonomicon, which I haven't read yet because I don't feel like hauling a 900-page hardcover around for a week).