It happened while I was waiting in the parking lot of Costco, my local warehouse club. I had arrived early in the hopes of beating the Saturday rush. While I sat in my new-to-me sport utility vehicle, making a shopping list for My monthly haul of bulk items like cleaning supplies, after-school snacks and Paper products, a man driving a dilapidated pickup truck pulled into the space next To me. A few minutes later, a diplomat in a new black Mercedes parked next to the truck. Shortly after, a woman in a minivan rolled in.

The diversity of drivers caught my attention. I looked around, and sure enough, the crowd hovering near the store entrance was also an eclectic group. They spoke many languages, ranged in age from infant to 80 and wore everything from shorts to suits.

This seemed to me a fascinating new shopping trend--people from all walks of life coming together to warehouse shop. I was eager to go inside and get a closer look at the people and the products. So reaching for one of the small flatbed carts, I wheeled through the double-vaulted doors (large enough for two Indian elephants to pass through side by side) and began my shopping and people-watching.

Maneuvering through the wide aisles, heading for the bakery in the back of the store, about a football field away, I was distracted by the clothing in the center area. The white cotton socks, packaged in pairs of 12 for $9.99, near the Jockey For Her underwear and the Speedo pool shoes, called to me. As a mother of two young daughters, I can never have enough white cotton socks.

When I turned my shopping cart, I bumped into an elderly woman named Mary Tate trying on a peacoat. Tate, a retired janitor who had worked at St. Alban's boys' school in Washington, D.C., for 20 years, came to Costco for bottled water. But she, too, was distracted by this open-air assortment of outerwear.

"You never know what you will find here," she said sifting through the pile of coats. "But they don't have my size," she sighed. Tate fingered the anchor shape on the buttons before putting it back. "Such a good price. Oh well!" she said.

A 3-foot-tall nutcracker for $24.99 stood at attention as I breezed by. While I didn't add him to my basket, I couldn't resist the beautiful Christmas wire ribbon, 50 yards on a spool for $8.99. I had recently seen the same kind for $14.99 a yard at a craft store.

Not only famous for their bulk discounts (A 32-pound drum of laundry detergent for $9.99 is not an unusual find), warehouse clubs are also known for their "treasure hunt" philosophy. In fact, while sipping a free sample of coffee roasted fresh on-site, I spotted a blue kayak suspended from the ceiling for $299.99.

"There are so many unusual things," said Sharon Labovitz, a small business owner from Alexandria, Va., "and they are so random. Behind the tires there may be a camping tent."

Glenn Llopis, president of Power Insights, a consulting firm in Los Angeles, Calif., specializing in warehouse clubs, explains that such surprise Merchandise entices shoppers to come back and "see what is new."

My shopping almost complete, my stomach full of food samples the nice ladies insisted I take, I heard what I thought was an argument in the next aisle. A Hispanic mother and her grown son struggled to understand the difference between 100, 200 and Gold Kodak film. She pointed her finger at the fine print, he shook his head, she pointed again and read, in Spanish, louder. He shrugged his shoulders. I wanted to help, but my high school Spanish didn't include film speed and light requirements. In the end, a year's supply of film was in their basket with a $10.00 rebate and an extra roll thrown in.

Looking around at this place, I had to smile. This warehouse is so basic with its cement floors, steel beams and industrial lighting, but so enticing with "treasures" tucked on tables, suspended from the ceiling, stacked in aisles. And the convenient bakery, butcher, optician, pharmacy, floral stall, one-hour photo and food court make it feel like a modern-day bazaar. I had to admit I look forward to my monthly visits. In fact, the "treasures" keep me coming back, wondering what will be new next time. Shopping here is like a sport-- and it's addictive.

Warehouse clubs have assembled a combination of goods and services so Broad and appealing, its attraction cuts through social, economic and cultural barriers. Warehouse club shopping seemed to be a great equalizer.

Llopis confirmed my hunch. "Warehouse clubs have created a new shopping lifestyle. They have redefined retailing by offering low-cost, high-quality products that appeal to a broad range of customers," he said.

Outside of the United States, warehouse clubs are also popular. Costco And Sam's Club have operations in Canada, Mexico, the United Kingdom, South Korea, Taiwan, Japan, Brazil and China. Industry experts say there are 946 clubs worldwide, and the number is growing. In 1999, 72.3 million people were club members.

The foreign markets actively promote many of the same goods and services available domestically, but also provide regional "treasures." In Mexico, for example, various tequilas and Carlos Quinto chocolates are popular items in Sam's Club stores. And in China, Ding Ju (natural fruit drinks available in 28 flavors) and dried seafood, such as squid and shrimp, are good sellers," said Jose Rene Gomez, director of International Public Relations for Wal-Mart, the parent company of Sam's Club.

Costco sells favorites like Squash (a fruit drink), marmalade and Peppadews (sweet cherry peppers) in the United Kingdom, and dried corbina fish, canned bamboo shoots and Harry Potter books (translated into Korean) in South Korea, according to their regional magazine, "The Costco Connection."

As I turned the corner for the checkout line, my cart, unwieldy with weight, nipped the back of a woman's ankle. "Oh, I'm sorry," I said. The woman turned around and I recognized Mary Garrett, a pediatrician and mother of four.

"Daphne, what are you doing here?" she asked. I looked at her equally loaded cart and said, "The same thing you are!"