Valentine's Eve at Walgreen's: Last Refuge of the Damned

The next time someone tells me they don't believe in Hell, I'm not going to argue, I'm just going to direct them to Walgreen's on the night before Valentine's Day.


Having just returned, I can assure that Hell is real and I was lucky to make it out.


I reached my inadvertent damnation innocently enough. We were going out of town tomorrow and we needed cat food. They had just enough to last the three days we'll be gone, but I didn't want to return late Monday night empty handed to a house of chattering cats with empty stomachs.


In retrospect, no amount of meowing could have outweighed the trauma of what I experienced.


I knew I was in trouble when I walked in and saw a line of unhappy looking people running the length of the store. "Weird," I thought, hoping the logjam would clear out by the time I got my cat food and found whatever aisle it was they were keeping the deodorant these days (Answer: the one furthest from all the other toiletries.)


When I turned the corner to walk past the card aisle, the occasion behind the crowd hit me and I knew I was doomed.


A line of disgruntled men blocked the aisle, picking desperately at the few remaining card options. A few had even given up on finding a card meant for Valentine's Day, and were picking through the sympathy cards looking for something tender they could adapt without too much marking.


The candy aisle was mostly a repeat of the same, although the genders of the last-minute shoppers were equally mixed, which also served to make the aisle doubly as crowded. In fact, when I finally made it through to the cat food, there was one guy with a red card in his hand and lost look in his eyes giving the Purina just a little bit too long of a look.


But at least he was still trying, which was more than I could say for a handful of guys wandering the store aimlessly, looking bewildered. Two of them carried balloons, along with a look on their face saying, "I really need to get my wife something besides these stupid balloons."


With no other options in mind, however, they just wandered the store battering other customers with their inflatable treasures while they reached unsuccessfully into their limited imaginations. As they stopped to look at picture frames and waffle makers that made animal-shaped waffles, you could almost here them trying to talk themselves into each, before hunching their shoulders and moving on.


"This is the last step before the mid-life crisis hits," I thought.


Equally perplexing were two different set of couples who were Valentine's Day shopping as a couple, at Walgreen's, on the night before Valentine's Day. And in both cases, each partner was loaded up with armfuls of stuff. I think we can safely say that if this is what passes for romance in their household, it's a good thing they found each other.


At one point, I heard a cashier announce to a middle-aged man: "that will be $65.43."  I wondered how one spends $65 for Valentines' Day at Walgreen's. A $20 dollar giant stuffed animal, $10 box of candy and $5 card seem about the only conventional options, but perhaps this guy added some Splenda packets, a can of pasta and some diabetic socks.


Or maybe he went back and bought the cat food.


Finally, after I surfed through the crowd, I climbed over a giant stuffed bear that was inexplicably sitting in the middle of the floor, and stood in line. After I got skipped by a woman with three ill-behaved toddlers of varying ages (she had been someone's Valentine quite enough already, if you ask me), I finally made my purchases and was ready to escape.


"Have a nice day and come back," the cashier said.


"Thanks," I said.


And then I gave my life to Jesus so I could go to sleep knowing I'd never have to see this place again.