Dispatches from the Home Depot Garden Center

Petunias, casual sexual harassment, Joyce Carol Oates tweets, an existential breakdown, and the ten year anniversary of my first date with Rob

Midsommar

I don’t believe in buying annuals.

This stance was solidified during an unnecessary trip to the Bed-Stuy Home Depot Tuesday afternoon. I decided I really needed CLR cleaner for an outdoor project, knowing damn well I didn’t need anything except enough money to pay my rent. But I got in my car anyway and told myself the trip was important, actually, because it was nice out, and I should really grab a few more ant traps, and maybe I’ll get ice cream afterward, and what if I found a good plant that needed rescuing from Home Depot’s concrete, fluorescent lighting hell?

So I blasted the latest Mannequin Pussy album and braved the predictable parking lot sexual harassment for Home Depot’s hallowed aisles. After grabbing the ant bait, the CLR, and other nonsense I told myself I could put to good use, I made my way to the garden section. I didn’t expect the existential crisis that followed.