Saturday morning, Kirsti assigned me to return a composter to Costco. When assembled, the composter looked like a WW2 sea mine -- a big black plastic sphere with a circular lid -- but without the spikes. The problem was that it wouldn't open, try as we might, after it had been sitting for a day with some compost inside. I wheeled the composter up to the entrance of our local Costco on a flat-bed cart, and you would have thought from the stares of the other customers that I was the Uruk-hai planting that big bomb under the wall at Helm's Deep in The Two Towers. The clerk at the return desk was unphased and processed my refund. I did have the courtesy to encourage him to move the object, since it didn't smell very nice; he made a prompt phone call.
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