I Dream of Costco

I have seen the new American Dream, and it is Costco.

Oh, you might know it by a different name -- Sam’s Club, perhaps, or BJ’s Wholesale Club, or some other clever moniker the profiteers in your area code have cooked up -- but whatever you call it (and for ease of reference, I’ll stick to Costco, and maybe later, if you’re good, I’ll explain why), make no mistake -- this “price club” phenomenon is much more than a convenient way to buy Pepperidge Farm Goldfish four pounds at a time.  It is the new embodiment of the American Dream.

Indeed, all of America’s hopes and desires are wrapped up in one Costco.  It’s not just the place you go when you need a 350-count bottle of Tums E-X or a can of tuna big enough to stop traffic, it’s the place you go when you need, well, anything.

Looking for electronics?  Costco’s got it.  Want to shop for dress slacks?  Got it.  Need to go grocery shopping?  Got it.  Have film that needs developing?  Got it.  Gotta get your prescription filled?  Got that too.  Shopping for books, golf clubs, camping tents, DVDs, office supplies, luggage, jewelry, tires, a deli tray?  Yep.  And if you get hungry for lunch while you’re shopping there, they can take care of that, too.

In fact, Costco is finding ways to become part of every aspect of life in these here United States.  A quick browse of the brochure rack by the garage-bay door at the front of the store reveals that Costco now offers services, too:  mortgage and refinance services, prepaid overnight delivery, business payroll processing, online investing, auto and home insurance, long-distance phone service, travel, auto financing . . . as best I could tell, the list includes everything but in-patient surgery, and it’s possible I just overlooked the brochure for that.

But it’s hardly just Costco’s everything-under-one-roof, all-things-to-all-people philosophy that so conjures the American imagination.  Everybody knows that in America today, bigger is better -- and when it comes to bigger, Costco delivers like nobody else.

In fact, in a document entitled “The Costco Story” on the Costco website, this quote appears:  “The industry’s standard size for apple pies is 8 inches.  Costco’s apple pies are 12 inches.  If we could find a larger pie tin, we’d make our pies even bigger.”  You think it’s a coincidence that they chose the all-American symbol of apple pie to sum up their biggie-sized philosophy?

Of course, with bigger pies and Costco-sized packages of everything from peanut butter to Pert Plus, it naturally follows that the store itself is massive.  Your average Costco is so big it has its own ecosystem.  If you’ve spent time in a Costco warehouse, certainly you’ve seen the birds that live there.  Thought they just flew in and couldn’t find their way out?  No.  Evolution is alive and well inside every Costco -- those birds start out in the primordial soup, which can be found in the frozen-food aisle.

And while life may begin at Costco, there is certainly no indication there that it will ever end.  How else to explain the 1,500-pack of Q-Tips or the 50-pound bag of rice than the implication that if you shop at Costco, you’ll live forever?

Of course, as with most things in consumer-driven America, Costco’s bigness gets passed on to you, the customer.  If you shop at Costco, your entire life is affected.

Because if you plan on lugging 16-pound boxes of Tide and sandbag-sized sacks of Puppy Chow home with you, you’re going to need a bigger vehicle than that little hatchback you’ve been tooling around in.  What, you think it’s an accident that the massive growth of Costco and its price-club brethren in recent years has coincided with the massive growth of SUVs?

And, unless you want your friends and relatives to think you’re really into toilet paper, you’re also going to need a bigger house.

Which isn’t a problem, of course -- just call up the Costco Real Estate Agent Service, and they’ll gladly help you with that, too.  You’ll want to find something with more and bigger closets, of course, and room in the basement for that extra freezer.  You’ve got to put that 100-count package of frozen burritos somewhere, right?  I can’t even guess how many 20-cubic-feet, frost-free upright freezers reside in basements across the land thanks to Costco.

I can tell you this -- my parents have one, and if it weren’t for Costco, the only thing freezing in there right now would be frost.

To those who would say that bigger isn’t always better -- that sometimes it’s just bigger -- I say you’re missing the point entirely.  The bigness that so easily defines Costco is actually a symbol of the core American values that we hold most dear.

For Costco, my fellow Americans, is about equality.  If you’d never been to one, and you heard about a “price club” such as this, you’d hardly imagine that America’s wealthy citizens would shop there; after all, why would they need to worry about discounts?  And yet, one glance at a Costco parking lot, and its aisles of Hummers, Benzes and Beemers, shows that such a place is open to everyone, not just the bargain-shoppers that drive Civics, Cavaliers and Chevelles.

Costco also embodies those all-American ideals of hard work, and the opportunity that freedom provides to earn your success.  Much like the good life suggested by that other American dream, Costco offers something not everyone has, but that is available to all.  In other words, not everybody is a Costco member, but, if they’re willing to work hard and pay the price, everybody eventually can be.

Which no doubt is Costco’s long-term objective -- a nation in which having a Costco membership card is as common as having a Social Security card.  Or perhaps the former will ultimately replace the latter.  After all, few things provide the same sense of social security as a trip to Costco.