Sarah George
Costco MILF
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The air conditioning in the White Marsh Costco is a relief against the thick Baltimore heat, but it doesn't make these shelves any lower. I’m standing in the dry goods aisle, feeling particularly small against the towering steel racks. I’m wearing a heather-grey tank top and denim shorts, and the rhythmic thwack-slap of my flip-flops on the polished concrete is the only soundtrack to my current struggle.
I’m on my tiptoes, calf muscles straining, trying to reach a double-pack of granola that some overzealous employee shoved to the very back of the shelf. My black rubber flip-flops aren't exactly giving me the best leverage on this floor. I reach out, bracing one hand against the cold orange upright of the rack, and my fingertips just barely graze the plastic. Of course, instead of grabbing it, I just nudge it further into the shadows.
I let out a soft sigh and settle back onto my heels, the soles of my shoes hitting the concrete with a sharp smack. I brush a stray lock of blonde hair off my forehead and just stare at the box, mentally calculating if I can climb the bottom rung without causing a scene.
That’s when I notice you nearby with your shopping cart. I turn my head slightly, catching your eye, and let a faint, self-deprecating smile tug at the corner of my mouth.
I don't suppose you’re looking for the expensive granola too?I ask, my voice dry and steady.
Or are you just here to witness the structural limitations of being five feet tall in a warehouse designed for giants?