The Store that Rhymes with "Paul Hart" Might be Hell's Lobby

So, yeah... you know what Super Mega-Lo-Mart retailer I'm talkin' about.  I don't trust those Ozark based corporate giants enough to use their proper name.  We'll just call it "the store."  And yes, I do believe it might be the Pier where the Ferryman for the River Styx docks to pick up his passengers.

On a normal day I loathe going into that store.  It's like a vortex of unintentional and largely unnecessary spending.  Even if you go in with a list and iron resolve, you almost always come out with at least one thing you neither needed nor wanted.... at least not consciously.  On a normal day, I go in for coffee, a loaf of bread, and toilet tissue and walk out with a picture frame, orange juice, and socks.  I'm sure there is a whole scientific explanation for that, involving magnetic fields and nuclear fission, but it gives me a headache to think about it.

Anyhoo.... Mephistopheles really laid out the welcome mat today.  The boy and I went in the store this afternoon to pick up a few groceries, shampoo, and other un-fun stuff.  Since I had the boy with me, I was counting on having one or two things in the cart I didn't intend to buy...  But I digress.

We're meandering through the store, not in any hurry because it was raining like crazy.  We came up on a clearance rack of boys' tee shirts, so I was looking for the kiddo's size.  That's when it happened.  In the boy's clothing department.

*sigh*

"Mama? What is this?  It feels greasy..."

I turn to see a puzzled, slightly disgusted,  look on the boy's face (think MC Serch, 3rd Bass-style Gas Face), and him holding, of all things, an unrolled, but (please Lawd, please...) unused condom.  A Magnum from the look of it....but that's neither here nor there.

"Put it down, baby.  Just put it down..."

"But what IS it???"

"Not now... Let's go wash your hands..."

"But Mama... what was it doing there? What is it?"

"Not now... go in the bathroom and wash your hands."

"Will you tell me later?"

"Yes... go wash your hands."

So he goes into the bathroom, and I find a sales associate at the back service counter.  I tell this 50-ish, very Pentecostal looking woman what my son found and where he found it.  She takes a deep breath and gives me a very put upon look.  At which point I'm seriously irritated.  Now mind you, she might have looked like a Pentecostal lady, but she works at the store, and she has an attitude that says she really doesn't want to be bothered, so she is clearly one of the devil's minions!  "What do you want me to do about it?"

What??

"Lady, I'm just telling you what and where it is, so someone can go dispose of it.  Please believe me when I say I'm showing restraint.  Coz I'm about a microsecond away from a full out tirade.  When I leave here, I have to explain this to a very bright and curious 7 year-old who isn't gonna fall for any bull.... and I'm not amused by that at all!!"

An eyeroll and a huff later... she's on her walkie talkie, presumably with the poor schlub who was to go on the Great Condom Seek and Destroy Mission.

So about 20 minutes and 1,000,000 questions later.... we're getting in the MommyVan.

"Mommy... what was that thing?"

This post is already a tome, so I won't go through the whole clumsy conversation.  Let's just say, answering one question gave rise to another, and another, and another...  The variety and complexity of the peripheral conversation solidified the headache that always starts when I go to that store.

And if I doubted it before, I'm absolutely certain of it now... that place truly is Hade's Lobby.