The Tire Changeover is Over, Unger...Roger.

D-d-d-dear C-c-costco:

There must be a better way. I am home now at 10:30 a.m. after spending two semi-frigid hours shivering at the door to your Tire Shop, waiting in line to assure my spot for the annual tire changeover drill. I could only type this letter after my fingertips were soothed by hot water bottles left over from equally hardy Alaskan pioneers.

My little soldier son agreed to accompany me on this mission if I adequately supplied him with everything necessary for a comfortable wait. The DVD player (pictured above) was a very nice touch to what could have been "standing in line hell"; worse, even, than standing in line at the post office. It's a good thing he didn't refuse to come with me and that his fleece jammies have feet in them, or you'd be in trouble.

I was properly attired in goose-down jacket,long underwear, wool gloves, socks, and hat, and still I shivered. My coffee retained its warmth for a while but rapidly cooled toward the 10:00 hour as your Tire Shop door remained tighly sealed against the scourge of studded-tire-angst.

It only took a 30 minute shower to regain the feeling in my feet and speech to my mouth. But that's okay, because Costco prides itself on customer service and I could be paying $120 for this $40 warehouse price, right?

Too bad my tongue is still stuck to my cheek, however.

Thanks, and next time I'll bring the sleeping bag and camp stove.

Yours Forever and Ever (or until I turn into a Abominable SnowPerson),

Mrs. Kirkland

(PS Yes, I'm THAT Mrs. Kirkland; don't look too hard for your Christmas bonus this year)