Uploaded August 2025 | Updated September 2026, 2 weeks ago
Welcome to Costco Australia, the magical land where you can buy enough toilet paper to survive six apocalypses, but you’ll still die of old age before getting your hands on a slice of pizza.
In this video, we embark on a once-in-a-lifetime journey: standing in line at the Costco food court. Forget Disneyland, forget Paris, forget skydiving — this is the true bucket-list experience. Forty-five glorious minutes in a human traffic jam, just to secure a slice of pizza and a hotdog that looks like it was designed by an accountant.
Surrounding us are trolleys so massive they should have number plates. Every cart is stacked to the ceiling with mountains of toilet paper — because clearly, if the world ends, wiping your bum will matter more than food, water, or breathable air. These shoppers push their bog-roll fortresses like they’re entering a Mad Max sequel: Costco Fury Road — Toilet Paper Edition.
And then, there’s the crowd. People clinging to the queue like survivors of a shipwreck. The expressions on their faces scream: “If I don’t get this $2 slice of pizza, I may not see tomorrow.” Mothers are bribing their kids with promises of soda refills. Dads are staring blankly into the distance, rethinking every decision that led them here. Everyone is pretending this isn’t the slowest line in human history.
Meanwhile, the food court staff move with the urgency of a sloth on annual leave. Each pizza emerges from the oven like it’s being hand-forged by medieval blacksmiths. One. Slice. At. A. Time. The crowd whispers: “Will there be enough? Will I miss out? Will I ever see my family again?”
Then it happens: someone actually gets their order. They emerge holding a pizza box like it’s the Holy Grail. The line goes silent, jaws drop, and for a moment we all believe in miracles again. Some clap. Others cry. A few consider mugging them for the box. Civilization is hanging by a thread.
By the time you reach the counter, you’ve aged 10 years, grown a beard (even if you’re not capable), and learned patience that monks could only dream of. You hand over your coins like you’re paying tribute to the gods. And in exchange, you receive your prize: a giant slab of pizza and a hotdog that’s somehow both undercooked and overcooked at the same time.
And here’s the kicker — it tastes… fine. Just fine. Not Michelin-starred, not life-changing, just… pizza. But after 45 minutes of waiting, it might as well be caviar served on diamond plates.
So buckle up for this epic adventure into the Costco trenches: where buying toilet paper feels like prepping for the end of days, and waiting for a slice of pizza feels like living through them.
Welcome to Costco Australia, the magical land where you can buy enough toilet paper to survive six apocalypses, but you’ll still die of old age before getting your hands on a slice of pizza.
In this video, we embark on a once-in-a-lifetime journey: standing in line at the Costco food court. Forget Disneyland, forget Paris, forget skydiving — this is the true bucket-list experience. Forty-five glorious minutes in a human traffic jam, just to secure a slice of pizza and a hotdog that looks like it was designed by an accountant.
Surrounding us are trolleys so massive they should have number plates. Every cart is stacked to the ceiling with mountains of toilet paper — because clearly, if the world ends, wiping your bum will matter more than food, water, or breathable air. These shoppers push their bog-roll fortresses like they’re entering a Mad Max sequel: Costco Fury Road — Toilet Paper Edition.
And then, there’s the crowd. People clinging to the queue like survivors of a shipwreck. The expressions on their faces scream: “If I don’t get this $2 slice of pizza, I may not see tomorrow.” Mothers are bribing their kids with promises of soda refills. Dads are staring blankly into the distance, rethinking every decision that led them here. Everyone is pretending this isn’t the slowest line in human history.
Meanwhile, the food court staff move with the urgency of a sloth on annual leave. Each pizza emerges from the oven like it’s being hand-forged by medieval blacksmiths. One. Slice. At. A. Time. The crowd whispers: “Will there be enough? Will I miss out? Will I ever see my family again?”
Then it happens: someone actually gets their order. They emerge holding a pizza box like it’s the Holy Grail. The line goes silent, jaws drop, and for a moment we all believe in miracles again. Some clap. Others cry. A few consider mugging them for the box. Civilization is hanging by a thread.
By the time you reach the counter, you’ve aged 10 years, grown a beard (even if you’re not capable), and learned patience that monks could only dream of. You hand over your coins like you’re paying tribute to the gods. And in exchange, you receive your prize: a giant slab of pizza and a hotdog that’s somehow both undercooked and overcooked at the same time.
And here’s the kicker — it tastes… fine. Just fine. Not Michelin-starred, not life-changing, just… pizza. But after 45 minutes of waiting, it might as well be caviar served on diamond plates.
So buckle up for this epic adventure into the Costco trenches: where buying toilet paper feels like prepping for the end of days, and waiting for a slice of pizza feels like living through them.
