Costco Lights, Friday Night
I’m weaving through the cooler section on a Friday evening, cart half-full, eyes on the bacon shelf, when a woman walking the opposite direction glances at my hat and slows.
“I love your hat,” she says. Simple. Warm. No edge.
I stop. Look at her—beautiful, easy smile, right around my age.
“Thanks,” I say. Then, without overthinking it: “Actually… I’ve got a once-in-a-lifetime story that goes with it.”
She stops too. Doesn’t keep walking. Just tilts her head, curious.
I pull my phone out, open the QR code I keep saved. “It’s wild. Involves the President turning and pointing right at me on Inauguration Day—caught live on national TV, First Lady waving beside him, the whole thing. No pressure, but if you’ve got a minute later, scan this and read it. It’ll blow you away.”
She reaches into her purse, pulls her phone, flips to camera. The red grid locks on the code. Site loads. She scrolls down a few inches—the photo hits: me in the arena, arm raised, Trump pointed straight back, Melania’s wave frozen in the frame.
Her eyes widen. “Whoa.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Take your time with it. Doesn’t have to be right here in the middle of Costco. Whenever you want.”
She nods, still looking at the screen, thumb pausing like she’s already deciding to keep going later.
We’re about to peel apart—her toward the chickens, me toward the bacon—when I realize we never traded names.
“Hey… what’s your first name?”
She tells me. I extend my hand. “Nick. Pleasure meeting you.”
She shakes it—firm, warm, real. “Thanks for the story. I’ll look at it later.”
“Cool. Enjoy the rest of your shop.”
And that’s it. We both turn. Carts roll away in opposite directions under the fluorescent hum.
But I can still picture it: her walking the aisles, phone in one hand, scrolling farther than she planned. The Friday night crowd thinning out, the coolers whispering, the quiet thrill of something unexpected landing in her evening. Maybe she finishes the homepage right there between the eggs and the yogurt. Maybe she saves the tab for tonight—lights low, wine open, heart a little faster than it was an hour ago.
I don’t know.
What I do know is she walked away carrying my name, my handshake, and the open door to the rest of the story.
No chase.
No number swap.
No “text me what you think.”
Just a hat, a QR code, a quiet “take a look when you have time,” and the unspoken promise that some stories are worth slowing down for.
You never know what good is waiting out there in the world.
Sometimes it’s right in the cooler section of Costco on a Friday night.
Sometimes it’s a woman who stops, scans, smiles, and keeps the key.
And sometimes…
the door just stays open.
Tuesday’s still open.
🇺🇸
