Crazy for You

I’ve never been much of a joiner. Or gas-fitter, for that matter. But, seriously folks…

With the obvious exception of the involuntarily celibate, there exists a club or community for everyone should they be interested in participating. The foci will vary because there’s nothing as diverse as people’s particular passions. There are book clubs, car clubs, chess clubs, cycling clubs, equestrian clubs, fan clubs, film clubs, golf clubs, gun clubs, jazz clubs, knitting clubs, motorcycle clubs, record clubs, rowing clubs, running clubs and cults, and churches of weirdly obscure denominations. Something for each and all in this short life.

How can someone find meaning in a fleeting existence by identifying with a mass market retailer? My brain hurts a lot. I’m uncertain if Costco pioneered the warehouse concept. It is inarguably the best known banner, like Kleenex to facial tissue. The chain periodically publishes a slick magazine for its members, all the fat skinny people. It is rife with ads, coupons, helpful hints (now known as life hacks) and advertorial prose. As such, it has a longer kitchen counter life than a weekly Canadian Tire, London Drugs or No Frills flyer, days as opposed to hours.

I found the August edition of Costco Connection alarmingly confounding. The cover’s major headline is “Crazy for Costco.” The graphic is a tight shot of a tattooed bicep, stark against a white t-shirt. The tattoo design is a red, cliché Valentine heart accented with a few green leaves, all of which are enveloped by a yellow ribbon featuring Costco’s fatty, sans serif word mark. I dislike tattoos. Ink on skin makes my eyes water; ink on skin makes me think of hideous infections: black plague, gangrene, hepatitis. Please, God, I thought, let this be a Photoshopped image because who in their right fucking mind would even consider an indelible commitment to a big box retailer who charges its customers dues for their shopping privileges?

I shop at Costco a few times a year. It is a chore disguised as an errand. If I were to rate my Costco experiences on a linear scale, I’d give it a four overall, one registering as something less than zero and ten being stone blind love. To be fair, the expeditions have never been as miserable as I fear they will be on the drive there. The parking spaces are wide and the toilets are usually clean. I’m no hoarder but I don’t sweat our cache of paper products. When two tabbies prowled the Crooked 9 its green plastic jerrycans of litter were godsends and ultimately the impetus for another trip to Costco. Now I pick up baby wipes for the grandchildren’s bottoms. The annual spring pop-up greenhouse is always a pleasure. Still…

Page 26 of Costco Connection delves deeply into “Member mania!” a celebration of grape Kool-Aid consumer loyalty that far exceeds piddling membership fees. A key component of Costco’s engagement with its customers is Kirkland Signature, the chain’s all encompassing house brand: very good stuff and lots of it at an extraordinarily competitive price. I can buy two large tins (Costco would never sell just one) of Kirkland Signature canola oil cooking spray for about the price of a single smaller aerosol of Pam as sold by my neighbourhood grocer. I’m all over that; I’m there, but I’m not going to buy the Kirkland Signature branded pullover (formerly known as a sweatshirt). I’m nobody’s billboard – tribal affiliations with rock bands and sports teams being the exceptions.

Four ladies in Calgary love Costco so much they don ersatz uniforms for their monthly runs to the store together, grey Kirkland Signature pullovers. The gang’s all here. The bond tethering these four besties is stronger than ever, thanks to Costco! As with all gangs, there’s only one way out. A woman in Ontario arranges for her extended family to wear coordinated outfits for their annual Christmas portrait. Last year’s theme was Costco, Kirkland Signature pullovers in contrasting black and grey, because “the family that saves together stays together.” Another woman from Toronto celebrated her birthday in the food court of her favourite Costco. Costcos don’t actually have food courts. They have hot dog stands with plastic tables and woefully inadequate condiments. Party planners take note, every single invitee came!

At this stage of my life my social whirl consists more of funerals than weddings. However, I’ve attended a number of weddings in my time, including a few of my own. There’s always that photographic lag between the ceremony and the reception. The newlyweds pose while the guests kill an hour or two elsewhere in gracious stasis. The most heartwarming anecdote in the “Member mania!” article gushes over a happy Edmonton couple who staged their souvenir wedding album photo shoot at the Costco near the International Airport where they’d previously purchased their wedding rings. There’s a magical allure to the Soviet utilitarianism of the average Costco warehouse, romance in the air. These crazy kids have found time during vacations across Canada and the United States, Mexico, Japan, South Korea and England to visit the local Costco “wearing Kirkland Signature sweaters and spreading our love for Costco wherever we go.”

A macabre misfortune in my life has been being tasked with writing too many eulogies and obituaries for close family members. I sweated those deadlines. The stories of those brief or long lives, however, tended to write themselves: my left hand moved and then I typed up what was scribbled on the pad of graph paper. I had nothing to add either as an advertising copywriter or a novelist, nothing to enhance. My dead led interesting lives, their interests and passions were varied. It troubles me now that someone contemplating the life of a Costco “crazy” somewhere down the line, perhaps during a sombre celebration of life ceremony, must spin the dearly departed’s all-consuming predilection for buying large amounts of stuff at an unbelievable price because there's likely fuck-all else to work with.

meGeoff has been your most unreliable, unbalanced and inaccurate alternative source rampant consumerism since 2013. The novella Of Course You Did is my latest book. Visit www.megeoff.com for links to purchase your preferred format.