Kirkland Crack

If you haven't noticed yet, my husband is a huge fan of Costco.  The man would wear a neon pink tee shirt in public with the slogan "I heart Costco."  It is his home away from home.  He has been known to fall asleep post call in the massage chairs with drool hanging off of his lip.  Once when we were in Hawaii, cranky from the long flight and overwhelmed by traffic, he found the Costco and once in the warehouse, all was right with the world.  His panic attack ceased and he was soothed by the mounds of bulk items. 

I've often thought more of his grandparent's depression era mind set rubbed off on him.  (i.e. If one is good, twelve are better.)  If you doubt me, go through your relatives stuff.  They are usually hanging onto things like sheets for a twin bed from 1956 because they may come in handy one day even though there are only king sized beds in the house.  These are the relatives that won't pass up a good deal even though they don't need the stuff.  "Of course we needed the 12 pack of industrial sized WD40.  I saved $0.20 per canister!"  However, I digress.

I have learned that it caused exquisite glee in this man if I conceed to buying things like large bricks of cheese or Christmas trees.  However, what he really gets into is the Kirkland Signature brands.  At first, when he cracked open a bottle of the Kirkland Signature champagne one evening I thought it was just plain tacky.  Although I have to admit, I've become a convert to some things.  Their alcohol truly is quite good and is their milk and their meat.  Before long, I was buying things Costco style. 

Last week on a chilly Monday morning I went out to start my car.  It was running about as smooth as Oscar the Grouch's Jalopy.  I ran in to wake my post call husband.  In retrospect I really don't know what I was expecting him to do and I then chided myself for even turning to a man when I was a free thinking woman.  He looked under the hood and concluded he knew nothing about cars in general.  Why he even tried is beyond me. He tried to close the hood and instead injured himself.  As he went back to the house shaking his fist and swearing profanities trying to find the first aid kit, I called the dealership.  It was determined that I could safely drive it there and they would give me a ride to work.  A Black guy named Elvis drove me to work.

Later that afternoon I went to go pick it up. 

"Just out of curiosity, where did you last fill up your car?"  The service manager asked as the technician brought me the keys.

"Costco."  I said and immediately they grimaced.  Not a typical grimace, but more like I poured salt and lemon juice onto a wound grimace.  The technician even shook his hand like he had just picked up something hot or was indicating that some Latina woman had a hot body.

"It makes me shudder."  The technician said.  "Shudder."  He repeated for effect.

"This is a performance vehicle."  The service manager said.  "Do you know what that means?  That means you only feed it quality gas.  BP or Shell only in this area.  Long term filling up of Costco or whatever will cause serious carbon build up and shorten the length of your vehicle's life.  And lets see, you only have about 21 days on your warranty." 

The technician sucked in through his teeth wincing once again.  I began to feel like someone just gave my car a diagnosis of lung cancer and I had been the one to buy it the cigarettes. 

"I didn't know.  I won't do it again.  What do I do now?" 

"Well, you go out to the corner, turn right, stop at BP and fill up hoping that the gas will mix.  These are the only companies that add fuel boosters and cleaners to their gasoline."

"I HOPE?!??!"  I repeated.

"Yup."  He hands me the keys.  "No charge for this one."

I left the dealership completely anthropomorphizing my car.  I was apologizing to it aloud as I drove it to the gas station promising I'd take better care of it.  HOPE???   I was also now getting angry and defensive about my husband's view of the warehouse palace.  I came home and told him matter-of-factly what the verdict was without any inflection of my voice.  He, however, obviously felt bad and guilty by saying, "I feel like I led you astray."  I realized that my anger was unwarranted.  He didn't know.   

Two days later, it wouldn't even start.  I watched as the towing company loaded it onto the truck again feeling sorry for how sad the car looked.  SAD???  Its a car, for Christssake!  I thought of it all alone in the parking lot waiting to be worked on the next day.  I went inside to get Edgar to transfer all of my stupid feelings onto a live animal.

It was finished the next day and they replaced a few things that apparently also shorted out.  Its now running like the race horse its supposed to be.  But I'll tell you one thing, in this household, while we may still buy the Signature champagne, we leave the pumps alone.