I watched about all of the recent City Council discussion surrounding the Home Depot debacle and came away with a few observations: Big boxes bring back
bad memories1) One minute in the real world is equal to about 10 minutes inside City Hall depending on who's giving testimony;
2) Council members have to make many important decisions, such as whether to wear their leis (a la Rene Mansho) or drape them gracefully over their nameplates (a la John Henry Felix);
3.) "Big Boxes" (super stores) are fundamentally different from "Big Boxers" (George Foreman), although they both make lots of money and take up lots of real estate;
4. "Big Boxes" are the best thing to happen to Hawaii since the overhead cam engine because they offer residents products at close to -- but not quite -- reasonable prices;
5. "Big Boxes" are the evil death stars of the retail shopping galaxy because they suck all the economic gravity from smaller stores, forcing them into black holes of bankruptcy;
6. You never hear a Council member say "bite me," although you sense the phrase is hovering somewhere nearby; and (finally)
7. Anyone who spends the entire day watching the City Council on television is nuts.
Anyway, now that I'm hip to the lingo of city government, I have a few observations to make about "Big Boxes."
As a military brat, I recognize "Big Boxes." We used to call them "commissaries." Commissaries were enormous airplane hangar-type buildings filled to the rafters with boxes of stuff like toilet paper and canned meat from Argentina.
Our mothers dragged us to these stores every payday, a trip so hellish and painful that for most of my adult life, I never went into a store larger than a Fotomat. It wasn't just the decor (Early World War II Renaissance) or the fact that it never occurred to the government that if you pay everyone on the same day and they all go shopping at the same time, you create a Dante's Inferno scene where hundreds of mothers are yelling and slapping at hundreds of screaming children that made the whole experience so depressing.
No. I'm sorry. That was it EXACTLY.
SO when these "Big Box" stores suddenly began appearing in Hawaii, I didn't quite get the appeal. After a torturous childhood of being force-marched into cavernous commissaries, you couldn't get me into a "Big Box" store at gunpoint.
Or so I thought. My friend and personal attorney once charmed, cajoled and hoodwinked me into taking him to Costco in my pickup truck.
Once inside, we each took control of USS Nimitz-sized shopping carts and began a long, agonizing item-by-item tour of the store. I became dazed by childhood flashbacks early on, causing me to run my cart accidentally into my friend's Achilles heels one too many times. He savagely turned around and shouted, "IF YOU DO THAT TO ME ONE MORE TIME, I'M GOING TO BREAK YOUR NECK!"
"Sorry, Mommy," I said before I could stop myself.
I was a basket case. When we got to the liquor section, he convinced me that the Fonseca port was a great buy so we began to fill our carts with it. Naturally, as we turned down the next aisle, we came face to face with -- I swear to God -- a federal judge of our acquaintance who seemed stunned at our cache of liquor.
I realize this stroll down memory lane has nothing to do with the actual debate about "Big Boxes" in Hawaii. But if you ever run into a former military brat in Costco or Home Depot, treat them with the kindness and patience you'd show a mental institution inmate. Unless you want to make them cry.