Food Clubs

After my tirade on Wal Mart the other day I feel like I owe equal time time to Sam's Warehouse Club - after all, aren't they owned by the same parent company? Ultimately they should fall into the same category, (shopping hell), shouldn't they?

Perhaps it is just me and my attitude? Again, I set off for the store to purchase supplies for my upcoming college sorority reunion. But this time it was without the dread and low expectations (and crappy attitude) I had prior to last week's trip to Wal Mart. I had the same parking lot experience - crowded conditions and idiot drivers, but the urge to run over people or at least flip them off didn't overtake me today. I just placidly meandered up and down each row until I found an opening on the back row between two "dual-ies" (those ridiculous pick-up trucks with four back tires).

This time the "Greeter" did greet me. Sam's greeters differ from the Wal Mart greeters in that at Sam's the greeter is more of a sentry denying access to the promised land of shopping to those without the proper credentials, i.e. - a Sam's Club Membership Card. Right away I am made to feel special - I get in! (Note to self: This isn't Studio 54, it is a grocery store, you dork!)

Once in, the aisles are spacious, the ceiling is high, the skylights let in natural light, the shopping cart is mammoth and the other shoppers (ahem, club members) are cordial.

I'm off - I have a detailed list, I know the layout of the store, all four wheels on my cart work - life is good.

First, I hit the paper and plastic section - plastic cups, napkins, utensils - enough to see a group of forty through meals for the entire weekend in one inexpensive package. Oh, the sheer convenience of it all is overwhelming. (I will admit thoughts of all of this going into the landfill will haunt me for months.) Next, to the deli for packages of over-processed meats and cheese, then double packages of breads and chips and I'm almost to the home stretch of the produce department. But first I must run the gauntlet of "food sample ladies." Mini-meat balls dipped in bar-b-que sauce and tiny egg rolls are thrust at me. Tiny cream puffs and baby carrots dipped in hummus. After my Lilliputian food samples I arrive in the United Nations of produce. Grapes from Chile, limes from Mexico, kiwi and avocados, pluots and Haricot Verts, coconuts and pineapples from God only knows where? Even with the Country of origin a mandatory posting I was too dazzled by all of this exotic produce to notice it wasn't all grown locally by the farmer on the acreage up the road. (It wasn't until I got to my car and saw my "Buy Local" bumper sticker that I felt like a big-fat-hypocrite.)

Much like my Wal Mart checkout experience from last week I was stunned when the cashier gave me the total of my purchases. For under $200 I purchased the majority of the food and supplies for 40 women for an entire weekend.

Unlike my Wal Mart Experience from last week no one spilled a gallon of milk on me and I didn't have to deal with a surly cashier. Oh contraire - I had the contents of my cart scanned by an efficient "front-end" manager while I waited in line (one of about twenty relatively short lines.) All I had to do was hand the cashier my receipt, he scanned it into his register while chatting about the weather. I wrote him a check and was then on to the "exit-the-store-line" where an employee looks at your store receipt and pretends to match it up with the hundreds of items in your cart in less than ten seconds, lest the line of customers behind you, all eager to exit, should get angry.

Off to my vehicle to realize, oh crap - now I have a cart full of stuff to unload into my car without benefit of bags or boxes (or carry-out boy). I open the back door of my SUV, trying to ignore the "Buy Local" sticker, load up the over sized containers, jars and boxes while imagining the people driving past, coveting my parking space, thinking I'm stocking a restaurant or doing the weekly shopping for Nadya Suleman , the octomom.

I drive home slowly, careful to avoid bumps and sharp turns - there is a rogue gallon jar of salsa rolling around in the back of my car), dreading the task of finding room for all of this in my refrigerator.

But it will all be worth it - ultimately. I will show up at my reunion, say it was no big deal (and it really wasn't), just a day in the life of a food-club shopper.