There is a serious danger in Costco that you may not be aware of.
No, it isn’t blowing your grocery budget on Soft Pretzels, Bagel Bites and Mini Wheats.
And it isn’t the 692 pack of burritos, though that is a major contender.
It’s not even the Kirkland brand baby formula, which is all good ’til it comes out again.
I’m talking about the terrible carters. The ones that cut you off in front of the rotisserie chickens.
The ones that wander in awe, looking at the pallets and piles of wonderment.
Eyes to the sky where there isn’t even available product, just four tons of kitty litter waiting to be inventoried.
The ones whose carts are piled so high with goodness they can’t see over them.
THE ONES WHO THEN GET INTO CART ACCIDENTS, REAR-ENDING YOUR CART BECAUSE THEY HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO DRIVE.
You may have wanted to tell this person off from the moment of their first offense. In front of those beautifully roasted delicious chickens of which they should make a car air freshener scent.
But that would be rude.
Telling him off, not the air freshener. That would be amazeballs.
But ramming your cart…WHICH HAD A SLEEPING BABY IN IT? Well. It’s open season now, isn’t it.
This gentleman got a (semi-polite yet condescending) earful from me as he u-turned into the condiment aisle.
We crossed paths a few more times and he wouldn’t look up from the floor. PWNED.
I actually would have been more pissed had I been in between the carts, but the baby is such great anger fuel.
He didn’t have to know that the baby didn’t even wake up.
THAT’S NOT THE POINT.
I got to enforce the mean mug, which has sadly been out of use for awhile.
I saw him two weeks later. I’m pretty sure he remembered me. He sprinted away and abandoned his cart.
I WASN’T EVEN THAT MEAN.