And that’s how we found ourselves one day at Costco. It wasn’t just a store or a supermarket—it felt like an entire city. The place was enormous. Just walking around the entire warehouse was enough to wear out our aging, aching legs. But what an impressive array of items! Vegetables and fruits, bakery goods, electronics, footwear, clothing, books, electrical appliances, plants, fish, cosmetics, groceries (or "provisions" as we call them in India), and photo development services—the digital age was just beginning to disrupt the traditional methods of capturing those falsely smiling faces. There were even huge refrigerators, pharmaceuticals, opticians, and jewelry, all stacked on what seemed like 15-foot-high shelves.

Being vertically challenged, as the great Sunil Gavaskar would say, I couldn’t see what was stacked so high above, on what I would call the second floor. And mind you, in the USA, there’s no concept of a "ground floor"; what we call the ground floor in India is their first floor. So, when I say the second floor, I mean the Indian second floor, not the American one. Clear, right? We were just as confused.

At that time, we were staying in an apartment with a window fan that didn’t quite fit the window. My son suggested that we could get fan extensions at some stores. On our next trip to Costco, my son, trusting my burgeoning American English skills, asked me to find out from a store attendant where we could find such extensions.

With a false sense of confidence, I walked up to an elderly lady and asked, “Where can I find extensions for fans?” She was delighted to help and said, “Come with me.” Off she went, her brisk tik-takking steps leading the way, while I, with my own short stride, half-ran behind her. After what felt like 15 minutes of navigating the entire warehouse—though I’m exaggerating a bit—she finally stopped and said, “Here you go. You can find the extensions.” I looked around, up, down, left, and right, scanning the towering shelves. Nothing. I looked at her, confused. She was puzzled too. Then she pulled out a set of pole-like structures and said, “Here they are.”

It took me a moment to realize what had happened. My pseudo-American pronunciation had confused her—she thought I had said "fence" instead of "fans." After exchanging “sorrys,” “thank yous,” and “you’re most welcomes,” I followed her back around the store, sharing my misadventure with my family. And no, we never did get the fan extensions.

The fruits and vegetables at Costco looked enormous—not just from my small-framed perspective, but compared to what we get in India. Naturally, we assumed they would taste better too. But we were wrong. Sometimes, we couldn’t even tell what vegetable we were eating based on taste alone—a slight exaggeration, but you get the point.

If every banana looked like a giant Kerala "nendhir pazham," and onions and potatoes resembled footballs, how could you even identify them?

Around this time, feeling a bit useless (which I probably was, no matter how you looked at it), I offered to help with cutting vegetables. My daughter-in-law, with a bright and encouraging smile, handed me some onions and potatoes. I thought I would need a sickle just to make a dent in these gigantic vegetables, but she gave me a small knife instead. “That’s what we use,” she said. After nearly two hours, maybe three, of channeling my energies like a karate master, I managed to chop up this mountain of produce with the smallest of tools. But everyone was happy; someone was doing the dirty job, and I spent the entire second visit wielding a small knife against these gigantic vegetables.

Continued in 90. Shopping Hopping - Part 7