Abandoned at Costco

All roads lead here.

For those of you who think Seth is such a nice guy--downtrodden by the constant nagging of his demanding ball and chain, a babe-lost-in-the-woods-of-life, allow me to tell you a true tale of how he recently abandoned me at Costco. 

I warn you--it ain’t pretty.

Browsing through the diminished section of CDs (No,I do not wish to purchase my music online in the form of individual downloadable songs. I am 54 years old and since my organ grinder and his monkey retired to Boca, I prefer my music in the form of tangible shiny discs that I can scratch up by not handling or storing properly, thank you very much), I sensed weirdness approaching.

I have an older model.

Thanks to my reliable weird-o-meter (purchased at Service Merchandise many years ago), I am able to detect even the marginally off-kilter from a distance of approximately 25-30 feet. Costco, however, was crowded on this Friday afternoon and, despite the sense of menace, I was unable to flee in time.

Sure enough, now right beside me, towered six and a half feet of pure crazy, complete with flowing gray hair and breath that advertised a recent sausage hero from the refreshment counter.

Smiling directly at me, he loudly announced that vinyl records are the "finest and truest form" through which to enjoy the musical experience. “Anyone,” he added, index finger slicing the air, who buys a CD, is “&%$#@*& crazy!”

"Walter, don't leave me....!"

Now I admit I'm a total reactionary.

I miss Walter Cronkite and the Million Dollar Movie. I long for the world before Nestle’s Quik was renamed Nesquik and where phone booths -- requiring only a dime to make a call -- proliferated like toadstools after a rain.

I prefer reading my books and newspapers in the form of, well, books and newspapers and cannot help but giggle cruelly when I see a text-er walk into a fire hydrant on a city street. But I will admit that the quality of sound is much better on these new fangled little CD thingies than on the scratchy old vinyl of my youth.

About to explain all this to the tall, deranged gentleman to my immediate right, I re-checked the reading on the weird-o-meter and took a step away only to have him clap me on the shoulder with a giant paw. Looking down, I noticed long, yellowed fingernails.

My commitment to be polite to all was instantly negated by the weight of his hand and, deciding to end this by agreeing with him quickly, I was very relieved that my loyal husband was right there...on my other side.

I knew he would intervene if Crazy Eyes suddenly wanted to bring our relationship to the next level. Seth had, after all, been right there when this guy had begun chatting up his wife.

"I don't mind if I do..."

So, I looked over to my left for support and, guess what, Seth defenders? He was nowhere to be found.

Not even a puff of smoke remained where my husband had been standing. Swiveling my head, I caught sight of him halfway down the coffee aisle, holding a bag of Dunkin Donuts ground decaf, enjoying a sliver of fudge procured from a sample cart.

"Gotta run!" I said brightly to my fellow music fan, ducking out from under his hand. Noticing that he was wearing a large button on his coat that read "I love angora cats" (this actually made me feel better about him), I made a beeline to safety and the man who had taken vows to stand by my side for richer, poorer, through sickness, health and nut jobs in Costco.

"What happened to you??" I demanded to know, wrestling the coffee from his grip since we grind our own beans and never, ever drink decaf.

"I figured you'd just follow me,” replied my hero through a mouthful of fudge.

So, again, for those -- and you know who you are -- who believe that Mr. Innocent somehow hooked up with the wicked witch of the east yet cannot find his way to redemption, remember this story...and avoid the CD aisle at Costco. I think I’ve seen that guy there before.