Costco, a modern love story

About two years ago, I stumbled upon a hysterical yet shocking article about a high schooler who was accepted to five Ivy League schools with… get this… a prompt about Costco. Five! Including Stanford, whose acceptance rate is lower than any Ivy League school. I am sure her GPA, SAT’s and all the other scores needed for university were outstanding in every way possible, but Costco? I began to rethink my life choices… maybe I shouldn’t have written about my gradual awareness of the obvious racial tensions in this country, and I would’ve been a stellar alumni from Brown University. Regardless, all envy aside, her prompt was impressive and without a doubt, creative.

For as long as I can remember, Costco and I haven’t been the best of friends. Its monstrously vast concrete inside is anything but welcoming. I always attempt to avoid entering or even stepping nearby, for fear of being kept in by its cold tentacles of products I convince myself to need, in large quantities. So I simply avoid it; except for one Monday night, the first Monday night after our most memorable of elections. I dreadfully walked in with my dad with the sole purpose of purchasing a large pizza (sidenote: they have the best pizza). As we waited, I saw a side to Costco I had never seen before. Whether it was because I have been blinded by my dislike or simply put, my world pre-election seemed to be heading into a new wave of progressiveness, the beauty was breathtaking.

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