The other day as I pushed my outsized cart through the aisles of Costco, I came to a startling realization. Nearly every shopper I encountered was about my age and, like me, had likely self-assigned some retail therapy—out shopping and killing both time and money. After finishing the morning paper and taking the dogs for a walk, I frequently escape to Costco (or some other fetching marketplace) for no reason of need. That way I can avoid my desk where all those projects await my industry.
Recently retired from the hallways and conference rooms of academe, I now find a measure of pleasure in visiting big box stores about twice a month. I take these shopping excursions as much for the desire to restock the freezer and pantry as to find a serendipitous item, to make an impulse purchase (a cutlery set, fish oil, a red velvet cake, and so on). Just to heighten the notion that life is brief, I will purchase a three-pack of briefs at Costco so I can wear clean underwear while I whistle through the churchyard.
Such unnecessary shopping excursions are, I suppose, a way of deflecting inescapable realities of mortality. One cannot take stuff with one on the trip to the other side, but while on this sunny side of the river, one ought to have a nice bottle of Brunello di Montalcino and some cheese nibbles while the sun sets. Of course, I do not need more stuff. I have enough provisions to support the needs of four or five families. Truly, I should be hauling things I have not touched in years to the Goodwill rather than adding to the pile. Occasionally, I will buy a shirt at Costco and hang it next to the 20 other shirts I have not worn since the Nixon administration. And socks! I love to buy a bag of socks even though my sock drawer is chockfull of socks. I feel good about returning from Costco with a load of goodies. But once I pull into the driveway, I must unload all that cargo and face the problem of finding space for eighteen rolls of paper towels, a pallet of Presto Logs, and a case of diet soda.
Space and time—I struggle against those elements whenever I complete those inessential trips to Costco.
This brings me to all those other shoppers who mosey down the aisles of Costco as I do. Are their motivations similar to mine? Are they beating back time with a new set of golf clubs? Are they filling their garages with 200 rolls of toilet paper?
People of a certain age and status frequent big box stores. I came across an article in Time that helps explain my observation.
It’s understandable that Costco’s customer base skews older. A car is all but a necessity for the typical “stock up” visit to Costco, and compared to older generations, millennials tend to not own cars and don’t seem to want to own cars. Most Costco stores are in suburban locations, while millennials tend to prefer urban living, and even if they are among the relatively few of their peers who could afford to buy a home, home ownership is less important to them than it was to their parents and grandparents as young adults. So … if you don’t have a car, and you don’t have the money or interest to stock up on two years’ worth of paper towels or mustard, and you wouldn’t have the space in your apartment to store this kind of stuff even if you wanted to, then there’s not much sense in shopping at Costco.
When one is young, the need for an extra pair of binoculars (or a car or a house) seems redundant. When one has the disposable income and a membership in AARP, these things become a necessity.
Tuttle, Brad. Time. 10 March 2014. Document. 20 February 2015.