20% Off With Their Heads!

Not long ago, I went on a bizarre safari with my parents, to one of those monstrous, membership-driven, continent-sized, discount shopping marts (I can't spell out the name of the store, because I can spell lawsuit). Although I didn't have a membership, my parents did, so I canceled my mail, got my entry visa stamped and stepped in.

The place was enormous: spacious enough to merit its own postal code, big enough to own its own military base and Congressman (of course, these days, you can buy a Congressman anywhere). As a single guy, I was staggered by the "bulk purchase" options. I felt like Alice in Wonderland, after taking the wrong pill.

Jars of mustard the size of lampshades. Bags of personal plastic cups, 850 per bag. 250 shrink-wrapped slices of American cheese. Rolls of tin foil you could use to re-roof a house. Pallets - PALLETS - of laundry detergent.

I saw a box of Wheat Thins you could stand on to paint the ceiling. An ark of animal crackers that no airline would accept as carry-on baggage. A hogshead of syrup that would send half of Hollywood spiraling into a sugar coma. A colossal container of liquid soap that I couldn't use in three lifetimes I would have to bequeath it in my will.

As a single guy, I can't consume a bag of shredded lettuce before the looming expiration date. I end up prowling the pantry, looking for things to throw lettuce on, at, in or under, baking lettuce on toast, strewing lettuce in the yard for colon-conscious birds, offering cups of lettuce to my neighbors.

I saw 50-pound bags of sugar. In my fridge at home, I've had a 2-pound bag of sugar since, roughly, the Nixon administration. I noticed ... and it's probably not a coincidence ... that from a cloud-shrouded shelf high above the sugar bales, you can buy a full-sized couch.

While shopping, you can also snack on samples, which is a good idea, because shoppers have gone missing for days, and were semi-conscious and famished before finally being located by geo-positioning satellites. It's just not temporally possible to get from one side of the store to the other in one lifetime. In one aisle, I saw an elderly gentleman embracing his grandchild, dispensing advice and pointing him to the next aisle. The patriarch handed his compass, staff and shopping list to the earnest child, tearfully surrendered his shopping cart, and then laid down and died. Four minutes later, he had been tagged Marked Down! and somebody bought him.

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