COSTCO HIGH

If you’re on a diet, don’t go to Costco stoned.

If you’ve already eaten lunch, don’t go to Costco stoned.

If you don’t enjoy freshly prepared frozen foods… well, you get the picture.

However, if none of the above applies to you, by all means, go to Costco stoned out of your ever-lovin’ gourd.  But be prepared, you never know what might happen…

It all started one sunny, Sunday afternoon.  My friend Charlie came over and said that he absolutely had to go to Costco. Seems he was out of his mega-sized bottle of shampoo.  I still had plenty left of my own, and it had been nearly a year since I bought it, but said okay nonetheless.  Costco is always an adventure.  Like traveling to a distant land.  America’s version of The Kasbah, as I like to put it.  So I vigorously nodded my head in agreement with his plan.

“Let’s go,” I said, reaching for my backpack.

“Okay, but first…” he replied, handing me a crisply rolled joint.

Uh-oh.  I knew better than to go shopping stoned.  Still, it would have been awfully rude to turn down such a generous offer.  Besides, what harm could it do?

“Mmm, okay, thanks,” I said and grabbed the joint.

I’ve never been much of a stoner.  Always hated the cottonmouth and the munchies.  Not to mention the cost of yet another addiction.  But when it’s freely and eagerly offered… okay by me, dude… let’s toke up!

As usual, it burned.  I coughed, giggled, tried again, coughed some more, giggled again, and embarrassingly watched as Charlie smoked like a pro.  No cough, nor giggle.  Only lovely, little rings of gray smoke followed by a deliciously pungent aroma.

Being a lightweight has its distinct advantages, however.  Thirty seconds later, I was stoned, and we were out the door.

“Pretty day,” I said, as we made our way through SoMa, passing the closed offices and pricey warehouse live-work spaces.

“Yeah,” he said, bobbing his head up and down.

“Good pot,” I added, feeling my head start to tingle.

“Oh yeah.”  Again with the nod.

Then the tingle started to travel.  First to my ears, then down the back of my neck, across my chest and now sensitive nipples, down my tummy, where I heard a distinct gurgle, through my crotch, which throbbed with glee, and all the way down to my slowing-down feet.  Every blood vessel and pore of my body felt like they were being raked over the coals.  Not that it was an unpleasant feeling, mind you, it was just so all of a sudden, so intense, so… so…

“So what’s in this stuff?” I barely was able to mumble to Charlie.  “I’m stoned as shit.”

“Yeah, should have warned you.  Packs a punch.  Sorry,” he offered.

Too little too late, I thought, but was now unable to verbalize.  Oh well, at least it made the drab facades of the passing buildings a little more colorful.

We walked the rest of the way in silence.  My lips, and most of my neurons, were now temporarily on the fritz.  Still, we had smiles on our faces.  Smiles that simply would not fade.  Perma-pressed smiles.  We looked like a couple of stoned idiots trudging through SoMa.  Not that uncommon a site, I figured.

“Voila,” I managed, as we approached the monolith building, single syllable phrases being all I could muster.

“Woohoo,” he giggled, “I’m starved.”

It wasn’t until we grabbed our mega-cart and were well passed the cheap electronics that I realized what he meant by that.  But the thought filled my head immediately, and I too was now stoner-starved.  And, as I was soon to discover, very glad to be at Costco:  the stoner’s paradise.

Maneuvering the giant cart through the baked goods aisle, we encountered our first free offer of food.

“Jon Donaire 10 inch Chocolate Moussecake, no preparation, ready to serve, $10.67, fourteen slices,” shouted the lovely and quite ancient lady as she cut said cake into tiny square munchables.

Poor, little, old lady, my warped brain thought.  That was probably all the English she knew.  Not nearly enough to get her through her harsh life.  Still, the cake looked yummy, and my tummy was now rumbling, so I grabbed for it and downed it one fell swoop.  Charlie was quick to follow.  So much for my social conscience.

“Mmm, mmm good,” he said.

“You betcha,” I replied and then added, “By the way, why do we need this cart if all we’re here for is shampoo?”

“Incidentals,” he replied, popping another piece of Moussecake into his mouth as he maneuvered around the throng of freebie-seekers that had amassed around the poor, little, old lady.  Well, at least she was popular, I thought to myself, and smiled at her as I grabbed another piece of cake.  She was too busy to notice.  Sad.

My sadness turned to elation, however, as we crossed the small chasm from baked goods to frozen foods.  For there, directly in front of us, were several other mostly elderly ladies with similar sized morsels of free, pre-cooked, and newly thawed foods.

“Delimex 3.5 ounce Chicken and Cheese Quesadillas, grilled white meat chicken slices, mozzarella and cheddar with salsa in flour tortillas, microwaveable,” beckoned the not-as-ancient hawker.  My stomach was doing back flips.

“Oh my God, these are fabulous,” Charlie said, as he devoured the bite sized treat.  I nodded my head in agreement, and we each put a bag in our cart.  Though I’m severely lactose intolerant, $9.03 seemed like too good a bargain to pass up.  Besides, the quesadillas were really amazing.  (Yes, so was the pot.)

“Look!” I nearly shouted.

Charlie followed my finger down the frozen food aisle and rested his eyes on a vision of loveliness.

“Kellogg's Homestyle Eggo Waffles, four pounds, $7.94.”

Holy crap!  We raced down the aisle, nearly knocking over a family of Middle Easterners that seemed overwhelmed by their surroundings.  I doubted they had anything like Costco from wherever they were from.  “Welcome to America,” I whispered, as we steamrolled by.

We downed the steaming hot waffles in no time flat.  They were smothered in Country Classics Pancake Syrup one gallon bottle for $3.24.  They were simply the best waffles I ever ate.  Charlie and I greedily grabbed for seconds, but thirds were definitely a no-no.  Ming Sue, whose name I read on her badge, put a stop to that right quick.

“Two tastes max,” she admonished, shaking her finger at us.

“Thanks,” we said to her, opting not for the Kellogg's Homestyle Eggo Waffles, but chose instead the Krusteaz Pancakes 144 count for $13.28.  We flung a bottle of the syrup in the cart as well.

My stomach was screaming up at me by that point, “MORE!”

“Damn I’m thirsty,” I said, feeling the burn of the additives in the syrup as they made there way down my dry throat.

“There,” shouted Charlie in response.

“Gatorade Wide-Mouth Tropical Fruit Variety Pack, $13.51 for twenty-four/twenty ounce bottles.”

We smashed the cart in front of us out of the way and were guzzling the Gatorade in two seconds flat.  The twenty-four bottles fit nicely in our cavernous cart, but still I was ravenous.

Again we made our way back through the frozen food section, adding several incredible deals into our cart.  Okay, so it would take me months to eat 16/4 ounce Wampler All White Meat Turkey Burgers patties.  At $11.35, that’s only $0.71 per patty.  How could I ever shop at Safeway again?  When would I ever have room in my freezer again, was a better question.

Dry foods next.  My stomach lurched in anticipation.

“T.G.I. Friday's Loaded Nachos, 48 count, 1.75 ounce bags, only $13.84.”

“Out of the way!” we screamed, as we raced with our cart down the aisle.

“Holy mother of God, these are incredible,” Charlie said, savoring each tiny chip.

“Who knew?” I added, choosing to down my paper cup’s worth in one eager mouthful.

We gladly added several bags to the cart, plus some much-coveted peanut butter, cereal, cans of corn, cans of peas, a case of tuna fish, which we planned on splitting, a canister of Kraft grated dry parmesan cheese for Charlie, two/60.6 ounce bottles of ketchup for me, 2.5 pounds of cashews, a Ghirardelli Double Chocolate Brownie Mix 80 oz box, for when we got home, and enough chili, pasta, rice, and assorted soups and seasonings to last well into the next year.

Along the way, we gladly dined on Pacific Sun Gold Peppered Beef Jerky, Nabisco Nilla Wafers, and some incredible Red Baron Deep Dish Pepperoni Pizza. Not too mention, we circled back around the frozen food section and repeated most of our previous stops, except for Ming Sue’s station, which we wisely went around.  We also filled our cart with frozen bagels and burritos, though I had no earthly idea where in my freezer they would go.  Maybe I’d send some home to my family for the holidays.  Or maybe to some needy homeless person.  They have microwaves, right?

Up and down each aisle we went, sometimes more than once, until…

“Charlie,” I said, as we rounded the last food-filled corner, “look at the cart!”

“Uh-oh.”

“I think we broke the bank,” I said, rubbing my now full and bloated belly.

“I think we broke the fridge,” he said, scanning the swelling cart.  My measly, little backpack rested ironically on top of the load.

“Let’s check out before we have to take a loan out to pay for all this,” I suggested.

“Agreed,” he agreed.

Now the line.

My head was achingly tired by that time, and my legs were starting to give way.  The giggling enthusiasm of my original high had given way to sullenness and flat out exhaustion.  I didn’t think I had the energy to wait behind the dozen other people with similarly filled carts.  And judging from the amount of food each of them had shopped for, I guessed we weren’t the only stoned marauders in the store.  Charlie and I looked at each other and groaned.

Thirty exhausting minutes later, we paid our exorbitant fine and were back outside in the full glare of the day.

“Well, we won’t have to do that again for a while,” Charlie commented with a lackluster grin.

“Never, never again,” I said, heaving my boxes and boxes of food out onto the street as we waited for a taxi.  Charlie plopped down on the sidewalk and bowed his head in defeat.

Where oh where was I going to put all this food in my tiny, little studio?  My closets and cupboards were already filled to the max.  I was seriously thinking about moving in order to make room for it all, but quickly realized I had no more money left.  I should have stayed in bed.  I should have said no thanks to the joint.  I should never have been friends with Charlie in the first place.  Or friends with anybody for that matter.  Look what it got me:  enough chili for the entire state of Texas and enough bagels to open up a bakery.

“Um, uh-oh,” Charlie said, looking over to me as I sat there fuming.

“Uh-oh what?” I asked, ill-prepared for the answer.

“We forgot the shampoo.”

“Fuck you, Charlie. Fuck you,” I responded, sliding my boxes to the curb as the cab pulled up.