On America

Having a few days a week free to work and run about town, I feel like I am experiencing other worlds on a daily basis. I was just rereading the French postmodernist philospher Jean Baudrillard's America, and during these daytime jaunts I feel a bit like a foreigner or an anthropologist, drawing unflattering conclusions of this country based on our strange shopping habits. I only wish I had my camera on me to record some of these sites (the littlest, most portable camera seems to have a shot battery):

The restroom at Target, Atlantic Center, downtown Brooklyn, 3pm on a Monday:

A parental war-zone. First of all, the 16-stall bathroom is at capacity, with nearly every stall, sink, and changing station in use. There are many screaming children. There are tiny newborns with harried mothers, and the impatient after-school crowd. With the high whir of the hand dryers, it's impossible to hear much of anything, let alone yourself think. Against the cold white tile, I am aware that mine is the only white face.

Costco, 38th and 3d, Sunset Park Brooklyn, 9:30 am on a Tuesday:

Half an hour before the store opens, people are lining up with their carts. The only explanation I can fathom is that al these people, like me, had to move their cars anyway for opposite-side parking, and the Costco lot has ample parking. At least it is sunny: one woman asks me the time, when I tell her it's only 9:30 (I, for one, didn't realize Costco opened at 10 on a weekday), she nods, settles in on a concrete turnstile, and turns her face to the sky.

Costco, 10 am the same Tuesday:

I return at opening time to slip in and out with a 2-month supply of formula. The gate has just gone up, and the carts are literally three deep out the entrance and fan out across the lot. there's a bottleneck as people flash their membership cards at the greeter. It looks a lot like boarding a very full flight, only the carts here are much, much larger than any carry on (or any suitcase) could ever be.

Inside, there is a flock around a table where, I can see from the backside, once I check out with my three items, the staff is putting out samples of coffee cake or breakfast pastry. They can't keep up with demand, and the U-banquet table is littered with empty plates while the crowd stares and waits.

Costco, 3pm on a Wednesday.

Outside, a bus pulls up. Two dozen European's deboard, enter the warehouse. I see them as I come down the flat "escalator" with a loaded cart. They are going up with no carts, looking all around and pointing. As I check out, I see them depart, empty handed.