Harvard Summer Review

The Harvard Summer School Writing Program

issue ten, summer 2004

Clubbing

Hillary Layman

Dear Friends,

I’m sorry it’s been so long since I last wrote! But I always keep up faithfully with my Quarterly Newsletter because I wouldn’t want to leave you out of the loop! There’s been so much going on I don’t even know where to start. I’m sure you’re wondering what I could have possibly been busy with since last you heard I lost my job with Dempson Inc. (the bastards and their layoffs!) and hadn’t been able to find a new one. It’s a tough job market out there, so I’ve been working part time at the convenience store down the street, but that’s not all I’ve been doing.

You all know how much I love to shop for just about anything, usually clothes. Well, last year I fell in love with wholesale clubs. You know what I’m talking about—the stores where you can buy things like mayonnaise and toilet paper in bulk. When I lived in Virginia they had a few places like that, but I thought the only people who shopped there were large families on a budget, not regular people like me. My friend Andrea had four brothers and two sisters, and it seemed like they could go through a 100-pack of lemon-flavored Liquid Adrenaline in a week (sounds like your current family, Alicia, hee hee).

Some time after I moved to Maryland to work for Dempson’s new office, I ended up at a Sherman’s Club with my mom. I’m not sure what she was shopping for, but I was immediately mesmerized by the sheer volume of stuff in the store. It was this big warehouse filled to the absolute top with everything you could imagine. Only it was in containers bigger than me. “Who needs ten gallons of ketchup or a 48-pack of glue sticks?” I found myself wondering. Apparently my mom did. I remember her buying a case of tomato paste. It took like four people to get it down from the top shelf.

Since I’m such a technology junkie (no thanks to you, J.C.!!!) my eyes of course drifted to the electronics section. They had a 100-pack of AA batteries for only $7.49, and eighty-five rolls of film and a free disposable camera for only $29.95. What a deal! They also had regular things, like DVDs, on sale for much cheaper than discount store prices. I spent a good half an hour browsing through the electronics area before going to find my mom. She was in the toiletries aisle contemplating a 36-pack of toothbrushes and a tub of FreshenBrite toothpaste.

We left the Sherman’s Club that day with well over $400 worth of goods (yay for mom’s credit card!!!), somehow convinced we had saved money. It didn’t matter that we would have to rent a storage facility just to have a place to put our 25-gallon drum of extra virgin olive oil and 150-pack of paper towels. We were smart shoppers with an eye for a bargain.

Back when I worked forty hours a week at Dempson, I had little time for shopping, so when I did shop, I bought in bulk. Now I have much more time to shop, the job market being what it is, but I still think buying in bulk is smart. After all, my income is drastically reduced, and bargain shopping has become a way of life. How else could I live on $8.50 an hour at only fifteen hours a week? Conservation and preparedness is key! Especially with all the credit card bills I’ve been getting lately. It’s nice to have a place to store them (20-quart Rubbertough tubs with locking lids: $4.99!!!)

Now, some of my neighbors and family think I’ve gone completely nuts with my bargain shopping, but I can assure you that is not the case. They may not see the need for 80 gallons of laundry detergent, but I am the one who never has to worry about running out. As long as people can still walk in my apartment I will continue to line the hallways with cases of printer paper and tissues. I can tell you where to find everything, so it’s not as though I’m unorganized. You may call it obsessive, but I call it prepared.

I’ll give you an example. Last week my dishwasher had a leak, and it was flooding the kitchen. I called maintenance, but I knew they would never make it in time to stop the water flow from reaching my carpet. Thanks to my massive store of paper products, I was easily able to mop up the gallons of water pouring from the broken hose. I was also able to dispose of the wet paper easily using some of my 240-pack of jumbo trash bags. A crisis was diverted thanks to my bargain shopping.

My landlord says all my boxes are a fire hazard, but he is just as wrong as everyone else. I have a carefully mapped out escape route taped to my refrigerator. All I have to do is slide the 25-gallon jar of Dilly Boy pickles a few inches to the left so I can read it. That’s another thing: I never keep the paper products in my kitchen near the stove. That’s how organized I am. I have a crate of Valencia oranges and a few tubs of vegetable shortening on the floor, but neither of those is flammable.

I’ve taken to storing condiments under my bed because they slide right under the dust ruffle with ease. I have eighteen 42-ounce jars of strawberry jam and a 12-pound vat of Miller’s Mustard under there right now. But there’s room for more. That’s why I’m going shopping again next week. They have a special on Doozer vacuum bags, 90 for $24.95. Not that I’m able to do much vacuuming these days, but I keep promising myself I will rearrange my pyramid of condensed milk so I can get into the spare room.

Speaking of the spare room, you all remember my cat, Tupac? I haven’t seen him in a few days, and it’s really worrying me. I put his litter box in the spare room beside the tower of 700 plastic cups I got on a whim at Foo King Deep Discount. For the first two days I knew he was still in there because he would knock into the cups when jumping out of the litter box, and it would make a crinkling noise. Now it’s been almost five days since I’ve heard any noise at all, and his food remains untouched in his bowl. I’m hoping he’s been living off the 3 ft. tall box of crackers on the window seat of the spare room. Maybe he got lost in the 98-ounce container of instant pudding mix. I always thought the lid on it didn’t fit tightly enough, and Tupac did like to rub his head on the corners of it.

Tupac isn’t the only one ever to get lost in my apartment, but he is the only one with an excuse. I can easily help people navigate to the bathroom from the kitchen, or to the front door, if they just listen. I had a date last week with Tom McNamara, the manager at the Sherman’s Club in Oak Village Plaza. I told him I was crazy about bargain shopping, but I think he saw that as a pickup line. Anyway, he came by on Saturday, but I wasn’t quite ready, so I showed him to a spot I had cleared off the sofa for him. I was in my bedroom debating between two shirts I wanted to wear when I heard him ask if he could use my bathroom. I told him of course, to just walk around the 750-yard roll of bubble wrap, past the yellow crate of face cream jars, and when he found the wall to feel his way a few feet to the left and he would see the door, which is only partially obstructed by the 7-piece home gym set I plan to give my dad as a Christmas gift.

That’s the last I saw of Tom. I really don’t know if he got lost and he’s still somewhere in my apartment, or if he just left. I’ve tried calling him, but it always goes directly to voice-mail, and I haven’t seen him at the Sherman’s Club any of the four times I’ve gone since that night. I know it was only going to be our first date, but I’m really disappointed it didn’t work out. I don’t even have Tupac to curl up in my lap and purr until I feel better. Some nights I can’t even muster up the energy to dig out the 300-gallon jug of Chunka Chocolate Madness ice cream from the industrial freezer I keep in my utility closet, much less find a spoon.

I hope you’ll come and visit me soon. I can make dinner with some of the Valu-Pak of 100 chicken breasts I got as a bonus buy with the purchase of a SuperDuperWok. Yes, that is a bribe; it can get lonely here at night when I can’t find the television. For dessert we can break open some of the 40 rolls of cookie dough that occupy the entire bottom shelf of my fridge. Because I’m offering my precious sweets you all must know I have an ulterior motive. I have needed help for a while finding Mr. Klasky, the bill collector guy who stopped in last month. I think he was with Visa or MasterCard. The police have been after me for some time to give them an answer if he is here or not, but I honestly don’t know. It may be more than a two-person job looking for him, so bring someone if you want!

If you do drop by, please ring the bell and remember to wait a few minutes. I always have to move the boxes of shampoo gift packs and take a quick leap over the 2500 sq. ft. of rolled up carpet padding to make it to the door. Don’t be alarmed at the large red stain in the front hallway: that’s just ink when some of the pens from my 4000 JumboGel pen set burst after I dropped the box. Wednesdays are when they start the new red-light specials at Todd’s Wholesale United, so I may not be around. Take care, and I hope to see you soon!

Love Always,

Denise

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