A Candy Bar Saved My Relationship

[When you meet the right store, you just know. It means never having to ask, “Where is the Bounty?”.]

One of the main reasons I moved in to the apartment I currently live in, was because of the central location to my favorite grocery store, gas stations, and the blessing that is CVS. CVS always has treated me kindly. It has my favorite wines at a decent price. They have not only one but two actually functioning Redbox machines. You’ve got to love movie vending machines. Add a slot for dispensing popcorn and M&M’s and it’s on (but only if mixed together). Also, it is much more convenient  than weaving through the grocery store when all I need is a little lion food and tiger litter. I will dodge the grocery store every time if possible, unless I have a guided list and more than ten items for which to hunt.

The first few trips to my new haven were just as delightful as I imagined. As things were going so well already, I quickly found myself envisioning a lifelong future developing for CVS and I. The perfect consumer-retailer union. That’s when, as it usually plays out in relationships (mine at least), the true identity of my beloved store began to slip through the cracks of its sleek ruby exterior. We had a problem. My CVS had been concealing a Mr. Hyde. The cashier.

Our first interaction was not noticeably disheartening. Not even the second visit was recognizably unpleasant. Sometime after the initial few check outs however, I started to find myself feeling… unsettled. As much as I don’t want to admit, I occasionally will request a pack of cigarettes, but mostly I am buying wine and various toiletries. Nothing crazy. So why was he looking at me like that? As soon as I became aware of this glance of disdain, almost disgust, I couldn’t not see it. I used to enjoy the once gleeful stroll to the check-out counter but now found myself dilly-dallying around in the things-I-don’t-need-but-kind-of-want section until there were other customers in line to… create a buffer I suppose.

I refused to stop frequenting my place. What is his deal? Maybe he thinks I am dumb. Maybe he is a devout religious person who thinks of my wine and cigarettes as the equivalent to purchasing a stock pile of butcher knives and book entitled “I Worshiped Satan Before it Was Cool”. Perhaps the explanation is that for no reason at all he just hates my face. Whatever it was I couldn’t take it anymore. Even his perturbed voice seemed to kill my mojo leaving me to sulk home and ponder how it had come to this.

Something had to be done. I would have to end our love affair. Hopefully CVS and I could still be friend and maybe even reignite our flame one day, but not as long as Mr. Hyde was running the show. Nonetheless, I knew I couldn’t end it without one last rendezvous. Without hesitating, I drove to the store, bee-lined it for the entrance and then marched straight to the wine aisle. Grabbing some Menage a Trois, I thought how appropriate it was that I was buying a wine that shared names with the situation. Me, CVS, and the cross cashier. Knowing it would all be over soon, I didn’t stutter step when approaching the counter. I finally felt like I had the upper hand. This was it.

Then something peculiar happened. He smiled. An actual smile, not some irritated tick or a simple stretch of his cheek muscles to give his scowl a break. That’s not all. He then peered up at me from being his outlandishly thick glasses and said, “Would you like some candy to go with your wine?”. Did I just hear-llucinate? He just stood there smiling. I managed to mumble out, “No, thank you” and scurry out to the parking lot. What just happened? This changes everything.

That’s when I realized it. There was no Mr. Hyde. It was me. I am more than guilty of often being overly sensitive to people’s negative mannerisms towards me, which are more than likely contrived by myself. It is dangerous. In this case, it meant the potential death of a great love as you can see. When I said no to that candy bar, I also said no to giving up on CVS and me. Obviously this whole charade had been in my head. You just don’t offer candy to someone you loathe even if you are selling it. Settled it was. Together we shall stay. I may even say yes to that candy bar next time. Just maybe.

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