CONSUME

A cut on my finger, I realized I had absolutely zero Band-Aids behind the mirror in my bathroom. Seeing as the cut was quite deep and wouldn't stop bleeding anytime soon, I made a special trip to the drugstore. Walking in, I was overwhelmed by the smell of something reminiscent of staling candy and old people. Nearly tripping over displays of discount movies, holiday specific trinkets, and overcrowded aisles, I juked my way through to the bandages aisle. Blood running down my arm, I searched frantically for Band-Aid Brand, because Band-Aid's stuck on me. I found them, but I also found hundreds of knock offs, wanna bes, and couldn't bes. I looked around at other products and saw the same thing. I saw the hopeless struggle for market share made present in vibrant packaging, spiffy logos, and cute mottos. Each product screamed BUY ME! in its own voice. All the voices at once, however, made me sick. They gave me one of those headaches that splits your skull into two conflicting sides. I was infuriated. I tore down the walls of products, flinging Ace bandages, gauze packages, butterfly bandages, slings, and even my precious Band-Aids. A bit intimidated, a manager approached me and asked me to leave. Looking into his eyes in disbelief, I calmly told him I was here to buy Band-Aids, proceeding to explain the situation with my finger, and showing him the injury. Cringing a little, the man then smiled and said, Okay, you can buy your Band-Aids, and picked a box up from the floor, handing it to me. Appalled by his greedy pointed teeth and his beady green eyes and his sweaty bald head, I slapped the box from his hand and left the store empty handed.