Hey, you. Yeah… you. The guy hiding behind the plastic shrubs near the restrooms. Listen as carefully as you can to every word I’m about to say: you are not living out the final moments of a folk-horror masterpiece in which you get ritualistically sacrificed for harvest; you’re just stoned off your ass at a Hobby Lobby and time is running out, so you need to keep moving without drawing too much attention to yourself.
I don’t mean that your days are numbered or anything like that. Hobby Lobby closes in, like, five minutes, and the woman discreetly following you around the store while counting her rosary beads is actually a nervous wreck because you’ve been pacing around the place and laughing to yourself in disbelief with no clear objective according to the CCTV in the back office that’s been documenting your every move for the last 45 minutes.
Her behavior may seem suspicious at first blush, but she’s simply doing her merchandising job to the best of her ability, and you’ve been standing in front of her basket display, frantically muttering “No, no, no, I don’t want it to end this way” for way longer than you think.
You’re a victim of circumstance — not because you stumbled upon the coven of a matriarchal death cult, but rather because of the battery-blinking rip you took from the ‘ole Breaking Penjamin in your car while waiting for the edible to hit before venturing into this fluorescently lighted hellscape of witchcraft and trickery.
Unfortunately, the edible took hold sooner than anticipated, and what first started out as a quick errand to pick up some new sketch pads and charcoals quickly devolved into you rubbing your face against various felts and fabrics as a grounding method that is in no way, shape, or form helping your cotton mouth situation.
Your heart skips a beat when you hear a cacophony of shimmering yet atonal windchimes accompanied by the cackling of a little girl who’s been running amok in the clearance section because her mother’s been distracted by the technicolor pipecleaners in which she has no definitive arts and crafts plans for, but can’t pass up on the price.
The little girl slowly turns toward you, meets your sullen scowl with a mischievous gaze, and bellows the incantation that marks the great reckoning as far as you’re concerned. Little do you know, she’s simply humming along to the melody “Sweet Hour of Prayer” by Phillip Keveren, a Hobby Lobby ambient music staple that most patrons are familiar with by their third visit.
But still, you’re absolutely certain that something evil is asunder, as no two similar items at this Hobby Lobby are priced the same. You tremble with fear because this antiquated “no bar code” philosophy may very well be the sign of some sort of lottery in which the entire staff dismembers you before lighting you into a holy blaze depending on the object of your choosing. With such a seemingly reckless inventory system in place, this may seem like the only logical conclusion to arrive at, but you’ve survived stoned trips to T.J. Maxx, Marshalls, and even Ross Dress for Less, unscathed time and time again.
It’s time to take a deep breath and walk toward the light. The only way out of this Hobby Lobby is through it, and I know you have what it takes to plot your escape.