Stay Very Classy, CVS

Disclaimer: CVS is a fine establishment catering to many needs for many people. Sometimes, though, it is really easy to hate.

For the most part, I consider myself even-tempered. We all have sins which ail us most, but anger is not the worst of mine. I rarely become indignant over small issues*, and my disposition does not sway often from its laid back standard... And then I enter CVS.

The spurring factor is usually something along the lines of, I put my laundry into the machine only to realize the detergent is bone dry. After a five minute internal argument about whether or not water alone has the same effect, I decide to make the trip. Besides, there are a couple other items I could use. I walk past a wall of smoke and wait for the person exiting through the right door, because even though they have two doors, they only choose to unlock one. The lighting is sterile, and the music uninviting. I do not grab a basket, because frankly, I judge people carrying baskets in CVS. Who does more than a quick desperation run to CVS? I begin my trip by grabbing a sparkling water to reward myself for the harrowing journey I know will ensue.

As I go through the items on my mental list, half I should not actually need. I am replacing my sunglasses for the third time this year. I left my toothbrush at home and have been relying on my index finger and heavy amounts of mouthwash the past four days. My razor head broke and I am verging on neanderthal status. I lost all but one of the 100 bobby pins I bought three months ago. How did I lose 100 bobby pins in 90 days? I don't know, but thinking about it makes me more upset.

I need a razor. They lock their razors. What do they think they are selling? Cole Haan leather jackets? I am sure there is a valid reason for this, but I think that speaks further to the quality of their clientele. I spend five minutes searching for assistance, and they spend five minutes searching for their manager, because apparently the key to the razors is like the key to that broad's chastity belt in the Steve Martin classic, The Three Musketeers.

After a couple miscellaneous, impulsive grabs, I meander by the feminine care aisle, and Godiva's finest chocolates tempt me. I see what you are doing, CVS, and I do not approve. I am having a rough week which has just worsened upon entering your store. How dare you exploit my fragile state. I continue onward, savoring the small victory.

Entering the detergent aisle, I realize my hands are quite full and I must settle for the liquid detergent rather than those neat little gel caps as it is the only one that will fit into my tetrissed* tower of goods.

Goods acquired, it is now checkout time. Though I could pay at the pharmacy, they always glare when they realize I do not have to pick up a prescription, as if they are so much better than me on their two foot pedestal. So smug. I choose to check out at the front of the store, where the line has inevitably grown from 0 to 15 since I began my journey. Three consecutive patrons insist on finding perfect change. One individual argues because the Snickers' bag had a two for one sign underneath it, and I want to tell them this could be a sign they do not need the second bag of Snickers. Instead, I contemplate the over/under on the number of days before I "accidentally" eat all 100 gummy vitamins I am about to buy. I settle on 11, and pinch two bags of $1 gummy worms between my free fingers to keep the vitamins safe.

The manager finally decides it's appropriate to open the third register, and some sneakster attempts to bypass everyone and create a new line at said register. He feigns ignorance when I call him out. I am now losing feeling in my fingers.

As the individual in front of me takes fifty seconds locating their CVS card - as if they did not know they would be asked - I glance at the magazine covers. Taylor Swift Could Be a Victoria's Secret Model. Really? We get it, T Swift, you're not seventeen anymore. You have blossomed from a cute mouse to a hot mouse.

Doh! Look what this has come to. I am projecting my disgust at this situation on a perfectly hard-working artist. My snideness is not just. As I reprimand myself, it is my turn.

My cashier is friendly, although I have to inform her that the gummy vitamins were indeed two for one, because that is $20 I am not wasting. While she is double checking, I turn to those behind me and apologize. I feel their burning gazes. Upon paying, I receive a mile long receipt with coupons that expire within three days. Do you really think I want to make this trip within three days?

Though I had resolved beforehand to turn around after my purchase and use the coupons immediately, I find myself all but sprinting for the nearest exit. Ahhh fresh air! I open my sparkling water to quench my thirst, and as the shaken beverage sprays all over me, I remember I needed toothpaste.

*NCAA football's total lack of a logical playoff system is not a small thing.
*Yes, I just created and used tetris in its adjective form.