Of That Which We Cannot Speak We Must Pass Over in Silence
I went to Costco today. In the back of the store, by the meat section, there was a woman passing out samples of pork roast that they prepare on site. She cut me off a little hunk, plopped it in a plastic cup and drizzled some dark liquid over it.
"What's that sauce you're putting on it?" I asked.
"Oh, it doesn't have a name. There's not a word for it. They just make it back there in the kitchen."
So, next time you're in Costco, be sure to ask for something.
I also tried out their dazzling array of massaging chairs and, just for fun, acted like one of them caused me great physical pain. In truth, I didn''t enjoy that freaky chair digging into my back. The concerned attendant asked me what I did for a living. I told her that I sat at a computer and sometimes had to talk to people. I didn't bring up the firecrackers or the plastic owl. The last chair on the left was great, though, and sent a pleasant buzzing vibration into my gooch and ball sack. A chair like that could turn into trouble.
Finally, I saw a guy wearing a weird little Civil War hat. I think he might have been a Time Traveler.
Seriously: what goes through your mind when you're leaving the house? "I think I'll wear that crazy fucking Civil War hat today," might be one man's answer. Hey, why not dress up like a pirate, or a cave man? It's only Costco, for Pete's sake.
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