There are certain situations in life that qualify as genuine emergencies. Running out of coffee is one of them.
So this morning—Sunday, the unofficial national holiday of bulk shopping and questionable parking decisions—Jeff and I ventured out to Costco to solve the crisis before civilization collapsed entirely.
Naturally, we took Persephone. Not because this was some grand adventure worthy of a mission log, but simply because I can… and because I need the practice driving her. If I’m going to own a blue chariot of freedom, it seems reasonable that I should get comfortable actually using it.
We parked far away from the entrance, which might sound strange to some people, but there’s a method to that particular madness. Parking farther out gives us room to deploy the ramp so I can roll in and out with my power chair without turning the process into a real-life round of automotive Tetris. Smooth entry, smooth exit, no drama. That’s the goal.
So far, so good.
Then we entered the store.
Now, let me be clear about something. What I noticed today wasn’t really about me being in a wheelchair. It was about something much more fascinating—and occasionally baffling—than that.
Human situational awareness.
Or more accurately, the mysterious and sudden disappearance of it.
I understand it was Sunday. People are tired. People are distracted. Everyone has a thousand things running through their heads. But apparently, for some shoppers, entering Costco triggers a temporary condition I can only describe as aisle amnesia.
People drift through the store at the speed of a tranquilized snail—no offense to snails, who at least seem to know where they’re going. Others stop abruptly in the middle of the aisle as if struck by a sudden philosophical question about the meaning of bulk-sized mayonnaise. Carts are parked sideways, diagonally, and occasionally in ways that appear to be inspired by modern abstract art.
And all of it happens with the quiet confidence of people who seem to believe they are the only ones in the store.
One aisle in particular offered a perfect example.
In the middle of the aisle sat one of Costco’s large carts filled with empty boxes. That part was normal. What made the situation interesting was the shopper who parked their cart on one side of the aisle and then opened the freezer door on the other side, effectively creating a beautifully engineered human barricade.
Now, if someone takes up that much real estate in a busy aisle, you might assume they already know what they’re looking for.
You would be wrong.
Instead, they stared thoughtfully into the freezer section as if they had just discovered frozen food for the very first time. Meanwhile, behind them, carts began to accumulate. People waited. Traffic slowly built like the morning commute on I-25. Yet the deep contemplation of frozen dumplings continued, undisturbed by the existence of the rest of humanity.
The truly impressive part is that this didn’t happen just once. It happened repeatedly throughout the store. At this point I’m fairly certain Costco could conduct a fascinating sociological study simply by placing a few researchers next to the rotisserie chickens.
But—and this is important—there are also the other people.
The ones who notice.
The ones who step aside or shift their cart just enough so someone else can pass. The ones who look up, make eye contact, and say, “Go ahead.” Those small moments of awareness restore my faith in humanity faster than a fresh cup of Costco coffee.
Because situational awareness is really just another form of kindness. It’s the simple recognition that the world is shared and that other people are navigating the same space.
Just when I thought the day’s observations were complete, the parking lot offered one final example.
When we had arrived earlier, we intentionally parked far away so we’d have plenty of room to deploy the ramp. And when we came back out, the parking lot still had what felt like a gazillion empty spaces. You could have comfortably parked a small fleet of vehicles out there without anyone feeling crowded.
Yet somehow, someone had chosen to park close enough next to Persephone that while we could still deploy the ramp, there was no room for me to maneuver my chair onto it.
So Jeff had to climb in and move Persephone back far enough for me to actually get onto the ramp.
In that moment, I felt two things very clearly. The first was relief that Jeff was there. Because if I had been alone, that situation would have become a lot more complicated very quickly.
The second was a quiet reminder of something simple but important: awareness matters.
Not in a judgmental way. Not in a lecture-from-the-mountaintop kind of way. Just in the basic human sense of noticing that the world isn’t a single-player experience.
Other people exist in the same space we do. They’re moving through the same aisles, navigating the same parking lots, and sometimes all they need is a little room and a little consideration.
So to the people who practice situational awareness, common courtesy, and that rare but wonderful ability to notice the humans around them—thank you.
You make the world a smoother place to move through.
Even on a Sunday at Costco.
No shame. No lectures. Just awareness.
Because belonging isn’t automatic — it’s practiced.
