Costco blog

 

Christmas brings the best, and the worst, out of people. I believe that there is far more good that comes out of the season, but let’s face it, that’s not nearly as much fun to write about. Tempers are sometimes short during this most festive of seasons, and I witnessed this during holiday shopping at Costco. There were two ladies who definitely needed some Christmas cheer.

 

My daughter and I finished our shopping, and joined the line in the center isle where we would be herded toward the check stands. We didn’t see the initial incident, but we heard the aftermath. A high maintenance, big bootied blonde woman in front of us stopped her cart, put her hands topped with long, manicured claws on her ample hips, and glared at a Latina mom next her. I knew she was a mom because she wore a flannel shirt, unpainted short nails, and her cart was full of kid food.

 

Anyway, blondie kept the glare on the mom while saying to her friend, “Let that bitch pass. She just cut me off. She almost hit me with her cart.”

 

I was thankful the herd began to move and the Latina mom took her place in front to lead us to the checkstands. I believed it was over. Not so much. When we reached the point where we would split up and go to a checkstand, the mom decided that she wasn’t going to let Blondie best her. She left her cart and strode, with as much stride as a five foot nothin’ woman can, over to her antagonizer. She tapped her on the shoulder, and when Blondy turned around, the mom said something to her.

 

I wished I could have heard what that was because it must have been good. The blond woman raised her hand and pointed. “Oh, don’t do it,” I muttered. But the woman did it. She put her blood red fingernail to the Latina mom’s chest. The mom brushed it away and stepped forward so she and Blondie were toe to toe, nose to nose.

 

I really hate it when my teacher instincts take over. Instead of standing back and watching the Latina mom pulverize the booty girl (because you know she would have), the teacher part of me took over. Before I even knew what I was doing, I wedged myself in between them just like I would do with sixth graders on the playground. I said in my most cheerful, but stern, teacher voice, “Ladies, Merry Christmas!” I placed a hand on each of their shoulders and gave a gentle shove as I said, “Now, you go this way, and you go this way.”

 

I don’t know if it was the teacher voice, that I reminded them it was Christmas, or the fact that I was a good ten inches taller than either one of them, but they obeyed and went to their assigned check stands. I guided my embarrassed teen daughter to a checkstand of our own. I took a deep, cleansing breath and wished I had put just one more bottle of Christmas cheer into my cart.