Made it to the Brooklyn Costco, which is two stories. Carts and people ride up and down on escalators.
I saw plantains as well as bananas, big bags of dried lentils and lots more kosher items than my Tennessee store. (I hope we get the lentils in Tennessee!) Also, disconcertingly, anti-rat garbage bags.
At the check-out, I asked the young man to ring me up a hotdog and drink.
"I don't have the codes," he said, rudely.
"Oh, I'm sorry. At my Costco they keep the codes at the register."
"Where's that?" Said with more than a touch of disdain.
"Nashville, and they also do that in South Carolina."
"I'll get the codes for you. Just a minute." His whole tone had changed, he was heading for the food court.
"No," I said. "No problem!"
New Yorkers are strange.