Thursday, June 9, 2011

Don't Touch That!

Here’s another story for you. One that will keep you laughing in the middle of your day, in the middle of your week, in the middle of your blog escapades. This afternoon J. Black Hairpiece, B.E.P. Longhorn, The Glee President and myself ventured out to their most cherished of all stores. The store that all three of them praise as holy as the offspring of Mother Teresa and Pope John Paul II. The store that is so great, even South Park won’t make fun of it. The store that shall be known, as Costco.

For the record, once a couple becomes betrothed, engaged, and married, they must then file an allegiance to the store Costco. A store to which they make vows and oaths, while staring each other in the eyes. I only imagine that wedding ceremonies must go as follows.

Bride: “Do you promise to be faithful, and loving, and care for me until death do us part, or until our platinum Costco membership runs out?”

Groom: “I do.”

Costco is the married duets utopia. The mother of all coupon-saving couples cornucopias. The store that takes Wal-Mart out behind the woodshed and gives it a good beating for its attempts at discounts. Costco is, as this younger generation would call it, the

Cut back to the fearsome foursome wandering the polished cement floors of our local Costco, and admiring the ridiculously low lollygagging prices surrounding us. A 9-foot inflatable river raft with a built in tripod. $199.99. A 24 pack of Muscle Milk $15.99 A slice of pizza and sauerkraut covered hotdog, $1.50. But we were interested in the more important things that Costco had to offer; the free samples.

Kids, we live in a culture where we are always looking for something that’s free. Whether it’s free pie Wednesday night at Village Inn, or a 3-year subscription to Reader’s Digest for Kids, we want it. In this case, it was a traveling tour of tinsel-twined Grandma’s dishing out the day’s marquee items.

“Why don’t you try some of this nice potato salad, made with red skinned potatoes, and paprika seasoning.” Blurts out Grandma one. Why thank you, don’t mind if I do!

“Have a nice cup of this Grilled Chicken Mexican Stir Fry Salad, made with the finest mandarin oranges in Florida.” Grandma two proclaims. Wow, you’re right, these oranges are delicious!

“Have a taste of this nice cilantro coated hot dog. If there’s one thing I do know it’s you can’t beat this meat!” Heralds Grandma three. I’ll take a swipe at that Chicago delicacy, minus the sexual innuendo.

And then, I saw it. A natural oil coated piece of Italian bread toasted to the supreme temperature, giving it the primal impact on your taste buds the moment you gulped it down. Grandpa one was dishing out the steaming bread and dousing it with a tablespoon of oil for the frolicking shoppers to ogle over.

‘Mmm…That looks good.’ I thought to myself as I reached over to the Italian mimicking yeast creation, hoping to top off my strolling buffet. When out of nowhere, Grandpa one’s spatula appeared, and slapped me quick across the hand like I was a disobedient 3rd grader.

“Don’t touch that!” The Hitlerian Grandpa smirked at me. “When I’m ready to put the tray out, I will.”

And with that, I put my tail between my legs, and joined my married comrades in their march to the front of the store. I didn’t know what to think, what to say. I had just been told off by a George Burns impersonator holding a wooden cooking tool, rejecting my attempts at loathing in flavorful goodness. And why? My mind raced in circles while we passed cartons of peanut M&M’s and Dockers khaki pants while 3-year olds screamed that they wanted another root beer.

‘What was it?’ I thought to myself as we walked out of the Cyclops known as Costco’s cave and crammed back into my Silver Bullet. Why would the cryptkeeper reject me from that American blue-collar delicacy? And then it hit me harder than a Red Bull/Monster concoction at 3 am, the real reason for my rejection from this store.

I’m not married.

What do you think?


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