After nearly five years, it feels as though I’ve finally acquired one of the attributes of all full-fledged members of Faith Mission Fellowship. I have a Sam’s Club card.
When I was growing up, I don’t recall hearing about Sam’s Club. Somehow I even made it through my teenage years with only a fuzzy memory of bakery owners and cooks who did catering mentioning Sam’s Club occasionally. Gradually, towards the time I hit twenty I started hearing about large families who bought things their in bulk for convenience. However, when I got married and moved to this community, I soon discovered there had been a terrible lack in my life. Everyone had a club card to Sams. Even teenage girls in the event they wanted to go in when their card-carrying mom wasn’t along.
Growing up under dad’s financial tutelage I wasn’t about to pay an annual membership fee to buy things in bulk for two people with no storage area in their tiny house in order to possibly save some money on groceries. It didn’t line up. But the conversations surrounding me were like arrows. “Dad, where did you get this dressing?” “At Sam’s Club.” (I looked in vain for a year before Kroger ever carried that exact brand.) “We got a majorly good deal on suitcases in at Sam’s the other day.” My friend told me she bought all her fresh flowers for arrangements there “because they were so much cheaper.” Even my obstetrician informed me the day after Adam was born that diapers were much less expensive at Sam’s. Everywhere I heard this dialogue … where did you get this? At Sam’s. Or, every time a question came up about purchasing people said, “well, why don’t we just go to Sam’s?” My resistance weakened and unless I was fortunate enough to hit a good sale, we asked David Lee’s dad to pick up a chicken or tenderloin at Sam’s for the rotisserie. Their meat prices certainly did beat all, including most sales. I began to feel forbidden, restricted, kept out. What all was inside those magical doors? Over and over we’d discuss getting a membership and everytime I balked. “Let’s wait til we get into the house and have storage,” or “arf, that is just too dumb to pay that membership fee,” or “let’s wait til we have more people in our family and can actually use bigger containers.”
When I asked my aunt Frieda where she’d gotten her coffee carafe and got the all-too-familiar answer, I cracked. “Honey, can we go to Sam’s Club?” We spent the entire evening being the butt of our own sarcastic jokes. “Let’s go to Sam’s Club” we’d announce with way too much eagerness. “Oh, where did you get this?” I’d say voice dripping. “At SAM’S CLUB,” he’d drawl back sending us both into spasms of laughter. Even Adam caught on that something about that phrase is funny and the next evening at supper he kept repeating, “Wet’s go Sam’s Club” sending both of us into giggle spasms which he ended with his Grandma Beachy’s phrase, “Oh, dear me,” before starting over. David Lee just shook his head.
Do I like it? Even my under the bed storage wouldn’t be adequate if I shopped there routinely judging by the huge cartons I saw. I stocked up on meat, found a pair of Carters pajamas for Lawrence, and saw the coffee carafe Frieda has. I like not being forbidden anymore. Funny, Mom says even my dad has a Sam’s card now.
