You might think you save a lot of money by going to Wal-Mart or Costco to get your institutional-sized containers of Oreos and discounted Starbucks Coffee and diapers. But do you really?

While the price per unit of items you purchase at large discount stores might seem cheaper than the price per unit at your neighborhood store, that price per unit does not reflect the actual cost to you of that big box of Oreos. It does not include, for example, the extra time it takes to drive to the edge of town or to fight the crazed traffic in the parking lot, or the time you spend waiting in line or the time you spend looking for what you want or even wandering about marveling at the hugeness of it all. It does not include the extra time you'll have to spend later on at the gym running off those extra Oreos or the extra time you'll have to spend at the doctor for high blood pressure medication.

Your time is worth something. Do you really want to spend it at Costco?

Not only do you spend extra time when you shop at megastores, you also spend extra money. I know, I know--the price per unit is cheaper. But you have to spend more on fuel to get there. You have to buy a bigger car to haul the stuff home, and the fancier cars in the parking lot might seduce you into buying a more expensive one so you won't feel left out. Once you're there, you'll have to pay the annual membership fee. And even if there isn't one, chances are excellent that you will end up bringing home a whole bunch of stuff that you never intended to buy, which you will then have to find a place for. More money, more time, once again.

And the cost keeps going up, for once you see how your favorite megastore has cost your community, they start looking expensive indeed. Megastores often get significant tax breaks from local governments on the theory that they will bring in jobs. And they do bring in jobs--or rather, they take away jobs from the stores that were there already, stores that can't compete with the illusory savings of the price per unit. Someone has to pay for the fire and police protection, roads, sewers, power lines, and other utilities that the megastores got out of paying in order to bring in jobs. Guess who that is? You.

Your taxes go up because they are getting a tax break. And when your neighborhood is decimated because there are no more jobs there, and crime goes up, and graffiti uglifies the landscape, and your property's value diminishes, guess who pays for that? Right again: you do. Not Costco, not Walmart. You.

And there is also a cultural cost. Do we really want to live in a Stepford world where everything is exactly the same? Recently I visited Boston and went to see Fanueil Hall, that early icon of the twin forces of the American Way: free markets and free politics. I was not surprised to find the entire square dominated by the Gap, Anthropolgie, Starbucks, and all the other usual suspects. Why go anywhere? Every place looks the same. And with that depressing sameness of landscape comes the deterioration of humanity itself. It's easier to treat one another badly when we are anonymous; we have no reason to think of one another as humans. We are all just cogs in the retail machine.

I am lucky to live in a city of interesting, idiosyncratic neighborhoods where excellent grocery stores are within walking distance. Neighborhood stores get fresh produce because there is no distribution and storage issue. The farmer can show up with her truck and drop off the best, juiciest, most luscious peaches, the ones that are picked when ripe and can't be shipped because they are too fragile. Neighborhood stores can make their own pasta, their own pesto, their own cookies, fresh, flavorful, made by people you can see and talk to. Because they are owned, or at least run, by individuals, they are more willing to listen to and act upon customer demands for organic food or locally produced cheeses.

Yesterday, as I waited at a little local specialty shop for the cashier to ring up my purchases, my daughters anticipating with pleasure their favorite snack of grissini and salami, all made right there on site, which we would enjoy at the charming tables in front of the store, I thought about how I could have gone out to Costco and bought some prepackaged salami and stale breadsticks and saved $2.00.

I wouldn't have gone to Costco if it saved me $20.00. The price of cheapness is too high. Do your own math.

-- Rachel Dresbeck