Thanksgiving Shopping at Costco: I Just Can’t Even

Tiffany Midge

Once or twice a month I treat my Nana to lunch at Costco for the rounds of free samples. I tell her we’re at Old Country Buffet, and she’s none the wiser. She’s a big fan of the crescent rolls and pot stickers. Sometimes we hit the food court on the way out for .99 cent hotdogs and the all-you-can-eat onions and relish “salad” bar. It’s about all the excitement her sweet, little heart can take, so I try and ration it out. But, hey, its Costco! It’s well worth the risk of a potential cardiac event.

Costco is the gettin’ place for holiday feast fixin’s. It gets pretty crazy with shoppers this time of year. But I don’t go for any of that, since I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving. Instead I act out a version of How the Grinch Stole Thanksgiving. Maybe you have one of me in your circle of friends or colleagues? Sound familiar? I’m one of those sanctimonious guests at the table offering anecdotes about the REAL Thanksgiving. I’m a real wet blanket, and can be annoying, I admit, especially after my lecture regarding appropriation on Halloween, my speeches on Columbus Day, and my throw down about Veteran’s Day for good measure. The Native Americans used every part of the sacred turkey is my official (sassy) holiday slogan.

The last few years I’ve frequented Costco for the gourmet foods in bulk. It's where I buy my figs. And since my truffle allergies make it nearly impossible to enjoy a decent meal, I buy a Costco brand of truffle oil that my delicate system can handle. I also shop there to refresh my supply of hardback copies of Jodi Picoult and Nicholas Sparks books—artisanal crafted romance novels, white tears included, no extra charge. Good value! Speaking of white tears, this last trip I stocked up on economy sized packs of safety pins, 10,000 count—those should get me to the next election, provided we don’t blow ourselves up, first. A tragic waste of safety pins if you ask me, so I hope we can keep our shit together. Mentioning romance novels and the election reminds me of how our current state of affairs is like a chapter from Flowers in the Attic: The American people are the tragic children locked up in the attic, and Trump is our mom's new boyfriend she's going to whack us for. I just hope everyone is saved in time before we’re forced to put out mouse traps, or take turns feeding on Chris’s blood.

I swear I saw Melania Trump shopping at Costco. I can’t imagine what she was doing in Clarkston, Washington, but you never know. She was clacking around the warehouse in her stiletto heels, shoving other shoppers out of the way, pushing her customized, dipped-in-gold shopping cart filled with Goodrich tires and bulk-economy-sized packages of kielbasa sausages and mini-chandeliers. She indulged in the sample buffet, threw her head back, unhinged her jaw like a reptile and swallowed whole trays. It was quite impressive. People applauded. If this First Lady thing doesn’t work out she could apply at a carnival side show.

Any day now I expect a new reality show to air on the Lifetime Channel called ‘The Billionaire and the Showgirl in the White House.’ It will star Melania and Donald and their menagerie of sprogg, bootlickers, and erstwell ne’er-do-wells. Episode One: Ted Nugent and Duck Dynasty For a Roadkill Brunch. Episode Two: State dinners with Tila Tequila and Dennis Rodman. Episode Three: A Very Special Thanksgiving with Scott Baio and the All White Cast of Hamilton. Their reality show will be reminiscent of the Beverly Hillbillies. Tiffany Trump should play Ellie May; she can install an official White House chicken coop and sell golden eggs by the dozen to visiting emissaries. When the hens fail to lay gold, Tiffany will spectacularly meltdown like Veruca Salt just before the Oompa Loompa takes her away.

Did you see Melania’s erotic photos? A friend said that the photos are actually progressive. I would agree. But a lot of people don’t remember that centerfold spread featuring Barbara Bush, or those tasteful nudes of Lady Bird Johnson in Juggs. Melania, our future First Naked Lady. Right. It’s said that Americans have a short memory, and I believe it. Except, of course, when it comes to Hilary’s emails.

It makes a peculiar kind of sense that Thanksgiving, Costco, and Trump have all come together at this point in time. When I think of Costco I think of excess, bigly, yuge! And when I think of Thanksgiving, I think of people like Trump—Trump is the personification of imperialism, a fat taker, he puts the colon in colonialism, and worse.

Tiffany Midge is an assistant poetry editor at The Rumpus, and an award winning author of The Woman Who Married a Bear. Her work is featured in McSweeney's, The Rumpus, Okey-Pankey, The Butter, Waxwing, and Moss. She is Hunkpapa Lakota. Follow her on Twitter @TiffanyMidge

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