Household Word: Grossly Inexpensive

That’s because I am a member of one of those wholesale clubs – a mammoth warehouse that sells everything from cashmere sweaters to sides of beef. It’s not really a club – anyone who pays the annual $40 fee can shop there. If it was an actual club, they’d have a lounge with leather couches and a full bar for the high rollers like me. But maybe it’s enough of a privilege to be able to buy tampons by the kilo.

The idea behind these places is that you save money because the club is “no frills.” That means that there are no ceilings or shelves or clerks to unpack the crate of 8-oz. paper cups you need for the fourth-grade class party. Late at night, tractor trailers unload cubits of Pop-Tarts® and 20-gallon drums of ketchup directly into the warehouse, where incredible savings occur each time a club member walks down an aisle and thinks: “Yes, I do need 5 gallons of pickle spears!”

I’m not sure if I’m saving money by shopping at this place, because calculating the price per unit requires math. But, there’s an illusion of thrift because the experience is so unpleasant. The lighting is bad, there are piles of snow tires right next to the bakery section and everything is sold by the gross, so it must be cheaper.

Warehouse stores aren’t for everyone. You really have to be an optimist to shop here: When you invest in 50 pounds of dry dog food, you’ve got to believe that your pet is going to live long enough to eat it.

And there’s some risk in buying bulk: When my youngest child was a toddler, I stocked up on disposable diapers. The kid turned out to be a potty genius and I’m still using those Pampers® to mop up spilled juice, dust furniture and wrap birthday gifts. At this rate, they’ll last until my incontinent golden years. What a bargain!