Friends Who Enter Here
. It is from Costco. I have learned
about bulk shopping in my four weeks as a Mississippi
River resident. Republicans go to Sam’s Club, Democrats
go to Costco. But everyone buys bulk because – unlike
Manhattanites – they all have space to store twenty-four jars
of sweet pickles. And – unlike Manhattanites – they all have
uses for twenty-four jars of sweet pickles. (No gathering is
complete without a lazy Susan full of pickles and Spanish
olives right from the jar. And a salt lick.)
I set the scene: It is one of those big-smelling days,
when people bring the outdoors in with them, the scent of
rain on their sleeves, in their hair. The older women –
Maureen’s friends – present varying food items in plastic,
dishwasher-safe containers they will later ask to be
returned. And ask and ask. I know, now, that I am supposed
to wash out the containers and drop each of them back by
their proper homes – a Ziploc carpool – but when I first
came here, I was unaware of the protocol. I dutifully
recycled all the plastic containers, and so I had to go buy all
new ones. Maureen’s best friend, Vicky, immediately
noticed her container was brand-new, store-bought, an
imposter, and when I explained my confusion, she widened
her eyes in amazement:
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