Ah, Costco, the land of free samples and gallon jars of Nutella. Many could write about the glorious treasure trove that is aisles upon aisles of bulk products, but few could do it with such eloquence as Ms. Brittany Stinson.
The high-school senior from Delaware took it upon herself to use her Common Application essay to discuss her days of "scour[ing] aisles for free samples," and "scal[ing] a mountain of plush toys." And apparently her story of her "kingdom of Costco" paid off. Stinson found out Thursday that she had been accepted to five Ivy League schools -- Yale, Columbia, University of Pennsylvania, Dartmouth, and Cornell, as well as Stanford, which this year had an acceptance rate of 4.69 percent.
Now, don't get me wrong, I have very vivid memories of a 7-year-old me sprinting down grocery store aisles with my best friend to collect samples, but the comparisons and observations this girl makes in this essay -- about Costco of all places -- are beyond anything I could have written as my Common App essay.
"Who needs three pounds of sour cream? Was cultured yogurt any more well-mannered than its uncultured counterpart? Costco gave birth to my unfettered curiosity."
I'm pretty sure when I stated I'm inquisitive in my application, I blamed my lawyer of a father. And I'm pretty sure my lawyer of a father would have laughed in my face if I had shown him this essay as my final piece to send to a university admissions office. But then again, I don't think my father and I would have thought "purchasing the yuletide hickory smoked ham inevitably led to a conversation...about Andrew Jackson’s controversiality."
But regardless, props to this Costco "conquistador" on her many acceptances (and please God, I hope you're an English major because we need more writers like you in our field).
Read the full essay below (courtesy of Business Insider and Brittany Stinson):
Prompt 1: Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
Managing to break free from my mother’s grasp, I charged. With arms flailing and chubby legs fluttering beneath me, I was the ferocious two-year-old rampaging through Costco on a Saturday morning. My mother’s eyes widened in horror as I jettisoned my churro; the cinnamonsugar rocket gracefully sliced its way through the air while I continued my spree. I sprinted through the aisles, looking up in awe at the massive bulk products that towered over me. Overcome with wonder, I wanted to touch and taste, to stick my head into industrialsized freezers, to explore every crevice. I was a conquistador, but rather than searching the land for El Dorado, I scoured aisles for free samples. Before inevitably being whisked away into a shopping cart, I scaled a mountain of plush toys and surveyed the expanse that lay before me: the kingdom of Costco.
Notorious for its oversized portions and dollar fifty hot dog combo, Costco is the apex of consumerism. From the days spent being toted around in a shopping cart to when I was finally tall enough to reach lofty sample trays, Costco has endured a steady presence throughout my life.
As a veteran Costco shopper, I navigate the aisles of foodstuffs, thrusting the majority of my weight upon a generously filled shopping cart whose enormity juxtaposes my small frame. Over time, I’ve developed a habit of observing fellow patrons tote their carts piled with frozen burritos, cheese puffs, tubs of ice cream, and weightloss supplements. Perusing the aisles gave me time to ponder. Who needs three pounds of sour cream? Was cultured yogurt any more wellmannered than its uncultured counterpart? Costco gave birth to my unfettered curiosity.
While enjoying an obligatory hot dog, I did not find myself thinking about the ‘all beef’ goodness that Costco boasted. I instead considered finitude's and infinitudes, unimagined uses for tubs of sour cream, the projectile motion of said tub when launched from an eighty-foot shelf or maybe when pushed from a speedy cart by a scrawny seventeen-year-old.
I contemplated the philosophical: If there exists a thirty-three ounce jar of Nutella, do we really have free will? I experienced a harsh physics lesson while observing a shopper who had no evident familiarity with inertia's workings. With a cart filled to overflowing, she made her way towards the sloped exit, continuing to push and push while steadily losing control until the cart escaped her and went crashing into a concrete column, 52” plasma screen TV and all. Purchasing the yuletide hickory smoked ham inevitably led to a conversation between my father and me about Andrew Jackson’s controversiality. There was no questioning Old Hickory’s dedication; he was steadfast in his beliefs and pursuits – qualities I am compelled to admire, yet his morals were crooked. We both found the ham to be more likeable–and tender.
I adopted my exploratory skills, finely-tuned by Costco, towards my intellectual endeavors. Just as I sampled buffalo chicken dip or chocolate truffles, I probed the realms of history, dance, and biology, all in pursuit of the ideal cart–one overflowing with theoretical situations and notions both silly and serious. I sampled calculus, cross country running, scientific research, all of which are now household favorites. With cart in hand, I do what scares me; I absorb the warehouse that is the world. Whether it be through attempting aerial yoga, learning how to chart blackbody radiation using astronomical software, or dancing in front of hundreds of people, I am compelled to try any activity that interests me in the slightest.
My intense desire to know, to explore beyond the bounds of rational thought; this is what defines me. Costco fuels my insatiability and cultivates curiosity within me at a cellular level. Encoded to immerse myself in the unknown, I find it difficult to complacently accept the “what”; I want to hunt for the “whys” and dissect the “hows”. In essence, I subsist on discovery.
