Combies: Shopping with PTSD
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Story Number 2: Woes & Gifts Number 2
I hate going to Costco. It’s not that I hate Costco itself. I like their products and their prices. I appreciate how clean and orderly the store is (I am a bit OCD, in a functional way, and seeing all that orderliness, I must admit, makes my nipples hard). I buy my vitamins and supplements, as well as other items there, on a regular basis. I even like the food court, though as much as I love a good churro, I think their churros are a bit dry. I do recommend getting them to make French toast: tear them up, soak them overnight in an egg mixture with extra cinnamon, raisins and vanilla and bake until the eggs are cooked; really good (hey if this particular blog doesn’t work out, then maybe I could try recipes!). But I digress.
I hate going to Costco because of all the people, the customers. It is not just the crowd, it is the aisle obstructing, open-mouthed, slack-jawed, drooling, seemingly unfocused (okay you are not in fucking Disneyland, nothing to see, keep moving!!), slow shuffling people who act as if they are the only ones in the store. I call them Combies, as in Costco zombies.
My anxiety about Costco shopping came as a precursor to my Child Protective Services (CPS) PTSD. It is not uncommon among my fellow social workers to find themselves, over time, becoming averse to social situations and crowds and having an intense need to avoid people off work hours and to isolate—it is rough being a CPS social worker and it takes its toll in a variety of ways. By nature, I am an introvert and then add the ever-increasing layers of angst and psychological muck that working for CPS brings, and it is no wonder that the thought of shopping at Costco became an anxiety-fest for me. One of my triggers that soaks me in anxiety and panic is being restricted. This, I am sure, is rooted in the sexual and emotional abuse of my childhood and then made worse by feeling for years like I could not be myself and was not understood, and then the nail in the PTSD freak show coffin had to be the years of oppression of working at CPS.
It would be one thing if I could work my way through the crowd, unrestricted, free to blast down and around the aisles at my usual breakneck speed, with my exact destination mapped out in my head, the cart wheels shuddering and spinning so fast they are practically smoking. I know EXACTLY what I need and I know EXACTLY where it is—PLEASE allow me access!! But no, Costco is a mass of meandering, staggering Combies, eyes glazed over, seemingly befuddled by their own existence. Or perhaps the Combies are enjoying their shopping experience; high on all the good deals and the massive amounts of products, vacuously happy to voyage up and down the aisles, in their calm, volume-discounted pleasure cruise, idly pushing their carts, without a care, having all the time in the world, la tee da, usually in the middle of the aisle, Or worse yet, the unfortunate conventions of the vacantly staring, mouth-breathing shoppers who completely block all access to an aisle, like a log jam and just as oblivious. I opine that Costco needs a slow lane for the Combies and a fast lane for people like me who know exactly what they are buying and also are trying to set a new land speed record to get the fuck out of the store!
Because I have such a calm exterior people would not know about the PTSD storm raging in my brain, guts, and nerves; the pulsing, the pounding, the panic that is going on inside me. I am not one to showboat, lend myself to emotional outbursts, make an ass of myself, or make my “problems” other people’s problems. But more often than not, when I am whizzing around inside of a Costco, with or without a cart, I have noticed that people do tend to jump out of my way, their eyes as big as saucers when they see me zooming toward them. Do I have a crazed look in my eyes? Is my anxiety coming off me in waves? Are the poor souls who wander aimlessly into my path assuming I am the next mad person to commit some heinous act on them and the entire populous of the store? Maybe my energy just temporarily wakes them from their Combie-induced somnolence.
In 2018 I was diagnosed with full-blown PTSD and was even placed on administrative leave after crying in a meeting in front of a program manager and deputy director when I requested to not continue to administer one of the two programs I was assigned at CPS, but instead asked to only focus on one program. (At CPS they have to pile too much on you and then blame you when it is not humanly possible do what is unrealistic. I loved what I was doing, but it was killing me. Both the program manager and deputy director said after my break down, “This isn’t like Bunny.” Yes, Bunny was broken.) In October 2018 I had the brilliant idea that I would buy everything I needed for the rest of the year at Costco, therefore, I would not have to endure the even more dreaded Holiday-shopping Combies (shudder). I made my list to make sure I got enough items to last through the year, calculating quantities of vitamins and supplements against the calendar. I usually spend $60 to $130 per month at Costco. This particular October I spent well-over $400, but it was so worth it to know that I could avoid the holiday hordes, who would be extra high and extra slow on their gluttonous, consumerish, buying shit they don’t need with money they don’t have, sloth-like crawl though the store. A true win!!
And then on Novembers 8, 2018, the Paradise Camp Fire came and burned down my town and burned down my house, along with most of my recently purchased Costco items (I grabbed some as I was evacuating), and pretty much all of my other possessions. So much for that great plan.
So the fire added to my preexisting PTSD and I graduated to complex PTSD; PTSD on steroids, PTSD with 20 extra shots of espresso, PTSD who constantly punched me in the face, kicked me in the guts, and beat my brain into a useless mass, not unlike oatmeal, but not as tasty or sweet. Somehow having lost the recently purchased Costco items in the fire compounded my anxiety about shopping at Costco. I guess it was a reminder of how out of control my life was, despite my brilliant idea of stocking up before the holidays; that plan blew up in my face much like the megafire blew up my town. As bad as shopping was before the fire, now it was way, way worse.
When I had to return to Costco, because I had to, losing 99.9% of all my things in the fire, and I needed to buy replacement things, I was thrust into what I was trying to avoid. . . .horror of all horrors. . . . holiday shopping at Costco! The lights were brighter, the mass of Combies was massier, the people shuffling, their proximity, their voices being plugged right into my brain, and their recalcitrant attitude toward my need to stay the fuck out of my way, God please, do not impede me! It then became my regular practice to sit in my car and cry in the parking lot of Costco before I entered the store, panic engulfing me. But after crying, still filled with anxiety and dread, I went in and did my shopping, sometimes with tears in my eyes, always with the throat-closing anxiety when the Combies slowed or blocked my progress.
And I did it. And I did it. And I kept doing it, pushing through the anxiety, ultimately triumphing over the situation, not because I feel great going to Costco even now, but because I pushed through with such fucking determination. It would be too easy to crawl under a rock and never come out after what I have been though, but that is not the life I want for myself. So I push though and I persevere.
In one of my most recent trips to Costco, almost one year post-social worker retirement and 3.5 years post-fire, was luckily in one of the least-crowded Costco’s I have ever been to. I still have anxiety about going to and being in Costco, but I decided to make a game out of it this time. I only needed to get three items and I thought I would time myself from the moment I left my car, parked near the outer edge of the parking lot (to minimize my contact with people), until I got back to my car. Timer set, I headed in, at my usual beyond-brisk pace and was glad there were hardly any Combies present. I did have one moment with a woman older than me, slowly, the requisite Combie slowly, pushing her cart, in the middle of the aisle. In her cart she had a large, rolled carpet set cattywampus across the cart with which she was optimizing her maximum territorial gain, really restricting my access. I was barreling toward her at my usual break neck speed, assessing her trajectory to see what side I should pass her on when we made eye contact. It was a real OK Corral moment, time slowed for a second as we sized each other up. I saw her eyes dilate, she gripped her cart tighter, her breath caught in her chest and she did quicken her pace to get out of my way; so I consider that a win for me!!! I shot passed her pushing my cart with such force she surely felt the breeze in my wake and I gave her a brief smile to acknowledge her well-played sportswomanship. Into the pharmacy section to gather two items and then to the back of the store to get sparkling juice, stopping only long enough to gather the items and sling them into my cart, with its wheels hot and its chassis shuddering. Then through the well-thought-out self-check (good job there Costco!), blowing past the food court, where the Combies are known to really put on a show of tortoise-like stupor as they stuff their gaping maws, through the let me put a highlighter mark on your receipt line, where I thank the receipt marker, and not daring to slacken my stride, I keep my manic pace until I reach my car. The total time, you ask, Fabulous Reader?: Nine minutes, eight seconds and 42 hundredths of a second. Gotta be some kind of land speed record. And a victory for sure!!! On many levels.
