Is the Cupbord Really that Bare?

Meditations on America While Searching for Candles

Yesterday after Annie's soccer game, I was helping Maureen help her mother decorate for a church guild luncheon. Maureen and Annie go to this annual event and it is usually a great family ladies time. They decorate the hall and each group decorates their table in a theme. There is a silent auction and a great time for all. The theme this year for the table was kind of like an elegant Munsters. In the middle of arranging the arrangements, it was decided black tapered candles were needed. And so began my descent into America.

Now, I am no white bread elitist. I teach high school freshmen and I have had many things seared into my brain that I wish I could erase. This quest for candles filled me with so much anthropological evidence I felt like Indiana Jones. I think I hit the entire food chain of craft stores and All Hallows Eve seasonal stores in Visalia in search of this not-so-holy-grail.

I started at Michael's, a national craft chain, then to JoAnn's, a regional chain. Once I figured out where the candle aisle was, I then had to plow through all the scented and unscented, the oils and votives, and ultimately no black tapers. These stores reminded me of a supermarket, as designed by Madison Avenue marketing psychologists, where everything is laid out to maximize customer exposure to as many items on the shelves as possible.

While at one of these I saw a friend that suggested the party stores and as I was talking to her, the line of women waiting to check out started with other suggestions. Every time I go into craft stores, I am amazed at the helpfulness of women. You would never find that at a home improvement store from men. You get a grunt and a head nod in a direction if you are lucky, but then most of us men would never ask for directions to anything, especially in the world of lumber and tools.

The first party store was like a Walmart on LSD and sugar. And that was the adults. Lines everywhere, no help in sight, bright colors flashing, and no tapers. Before I could get out of the store I was assaulted visually by the costumes. There seems to be only three types of costumes. Characters from the latest children's movie/cartoon, demons/horror creatures of various kinds, or nurses and chamber maids. Before Sponge Bob could get any more of my time, I was out of the party store.

And onto a type of store that has only sprung up in the last decade. They call themselves by names that either describe their price tags or the size of their product. Dollar 'n Penny Store, or JumboGroups, or Gemme All Your Change & U Getta Pile'OCrap. Walmart looks like Neiman-Marcus compared to these places. Given the social challenge Maureen and I recently undertook, I didn't give myself much chance of finding any candles here made other than in China. I was wrong--Made in U.S.A.--right on the label, but no black tapers. What I did find though was an American archetype that I had never seen before. As I was wandering the second store looking for the candle section, I happened to end up coincidentally following a couple trolling. The lady was pushing the cart and the man had one hand on the front of the cart pulling. It reminded me of a couple fishing in an old Grumman aluminum boat. The type of small boat many people start with that is light, and fits half in the bed and half on the roof of a pickup. The troller in the back steering the small outboard engine and the one in front dangling his pole over the side. Put-put-put through the aisles of Gemme All Your Change & U Getta Pile'OCrap looking for something to buy. Because it was cheap. That's why they were there. I cruised along for two aisles listening to them discuss the merits of various cheap plastic and soft metal gadgets. When I finally found the candles, between car battery accessories and deodorant, they were there discussing whether this candle or that one would mask the smell of multiple cats. I scampered out of the store with a sinking feeling in my belly.

I trolled, was I really any different than the other shoppers, on to the "Spirit" store. This is a season-only emporium of the Halloween extravaganza the happens only in the US of A. I hope. This store had less variety than the previous party type store. They limited themselves to costumes for cheap YouTube horror films or porno movies you find at the flea market. I was alternately repulsed by teenagers trying on the latest gothic horror slasher costume and saddened by mothers dressing their 7 year old daughters as hooker hoochee mamas.

What have we become that we can't see what we are valuing with our money? Don't we have self control? Don't we have a sense of what it costs to earn what we purchase? And I mean all costs. I work tormenting the youth of my small town as a teacher. The money I earn gets spent, all of it. I'd like to think I try to get value in exchange for the money I spend. I think about how I spend and where the money goes that I spend. I try to vote with my money as some would say. Go to places I want to stay around and avoid those I don't.

That is why I am bothered by the Bailout. Who are we valuing with my money and yours?