Costco Reprise

Maia, David (Hita ALT from WI) and I all went back to F-town Costco again today to replenish spent cheeses, acquire new raviolis, renew our relationships with Spanish olives and get a nice dose of trash thrown into the mix for no additional charge. As we arrived at the store entrance we were met by a queue stretching back about ten meters and wondered if the bouncers were metering customers, which was a close guess but ultimately incorrect--actually the place had run out of available shopping carts and your choices were to either wait in line or, I don't know, use a bucket brigade to get your multiple armfuls of family-sized Cheetos/toilet paper/Franzia boxed wine to the registers. Yeah, the place was that packed.

We waited a short time for a couple carts and leaped into the fray. I tried to be courteous at first by yielding to cross-traffic until I realized again that we were all following a close approximation of Japanese traffic laws and, in fact, the concept of yielding doesn't exist here, replaced by deft (read: asshole-ish) cutting off maneuvers. When in Rome. So, yeah, I bumped carts, rubbed sidings and got lewd with the way my rig wiggled, all in the name of getting ahead of folks that want so badly to scrutinize that two-liter jug of Ragu tomato sauce.

The free sample folks were out this day and caused easily half the floor backups. My favorite sample giver of the day was for some generic red wine simply because, heck, how often do you see anyone handing out free samples of the sauce to these booze hounds? The bakery area was absolutely littered with plastic wine sample cups. By the time we were rounding alcohol though Maia and I were essentially finished with our shopping and it was a simple matter to link up with David and exit stage left. First, though, was the little matter of greasy vittles.

Let's be perfectly frank about the concession food at Costco: the stuff is probably responsible for a sizable percentage of the American obese due to it's massive--massive--oil content. Really, rub a sheet of A4 paper over a slice of pepperoni pizza and you've got a nice little 8"x11" opaque window. Your window to weight loss, as Dr. Nick Riviera might say. However, when you've spent so much time away from these foods that belong in a carnival arcade and are actually somewhat embarrassing to admit are American...I don't know...for me a craving, a very evil craving, overtakes me and pulls me in with its tractor beam of MSG and cheese. I had a hot dog and a slice of combo, and I'm not proud of it.

A little slice of America come to Japan. Next, sexy posing on a kiddie chair. Nothing about that's suspicious or disturbing in the slightest, nosiree.

Eating was difficult though. The small field of picnic benches that they call the cafeteria is really more of a human feed lot. There's plenty of unruly kids, frustrated shoppers and tired faces to go around. If you ever want to see the trashiest side of Japan I think one need not look any farther than this pit. The main spectacle of this tragic show is a family I dubbed "VH1's Charm School Family," as in they all looked and behaved like some of the skeeziest contestants from that series of programs. As I was performing the act of sitting down to eat Ma Charm School came and fully, literally shoved me out of the way to get by with sodas for her spawn. No, really, hands on my back and a stiff push. Maia nearly poured her tea over the lady's head. My jaw was on the floor from that, but Daughter Charm School pushed it into the basement when she got up to retrieve condiments, walked by and--and I maintain this is the entire truth--had her nipple sticking out of her bra and shirt. Oh, did I mention her hair was done up like a club hostess? Nothin' but class here, folks.

Fukuoka Costco: Your Japanese one-stop-shop for all trashy reality show contestants.

--Matt