My Marvelous Day at Yankee Candle (NSFW?)Submitted by nitty34 at 2006-01-25 12:03:51 EST
Rating: 1.91 on 71 ratings (71 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
I'd never been to Yankee Candle in January before yesterday.
Nor have I been in February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, or November. My trips to that store generally occur around the 24th of December, when I'm scrambling to find a gift for Aunt Clara since she sent me that wonderful set of pink bunny pajamas when I was nine.
I looked like a pink nightmare. A deranged Easter Bunny, but that's beside the point.
But yesterday I went.
I was going to the mall anyway, and apparently the ad wizards that nestle in the bowels of the Yankee Candle corporate offices felt that I was a good candidate as their target demographic. A few days ago, I'd received a Buy-1-Get-1-Free coupon in the mail. Hooray! Honors and benefits, reap yourselves upon me. Surely I had been hand picked from an enormous group of dozens of qualified candleers.
Plus, it wouldn't hurt lately if my house smelled nice.
I'm in the final stages of weaning the pup off of paper training, yet the funk of newsprint urine lingers every now and again.
Guess how long it takes the water to evaporate in a pot of boiling eggs? About the same amount of time it takes me to forget about the eggs, and to shower, shave, and dress. Walking out of my bedroom I was bitchslapped by the smell that hard boiled eggs make sans water. You can't fry hard boiled eggs whilst they're still in the shell. Write that down.
You ever start on a marathon of laundry, only to get to the last load, fold it, be happy and proud, and then three days later realize there was a load of car washing towels in the wash that you forgot to transfer to the dryer? Whoops.
A candle or two wouldn't hurt while the house had time to air itself out.
I arrived at the mall, and even though I was forced to park roughly 4 miles from the entrance, I thought I caught a vague whiff of White Lilac as I locked my car.
Walking through the entrance, I was sure I smelled the succulent scent of Sweet Pea.
Up the escalators past the food court, there was a definite hint of Sbarro mixed with Sunwashed Linen.
And then I saw the store. The Utopia. The Mecca. The Alpha and the Omega of candles and all things that are scented. I braced my olfactory glands and stepped inside.
Immediately I was attacked by one of the carbon copy June Cleavers in her queer little apron.
"Are you looking for anything special today, sir?"
"Can I help you find anything?"
"DO YOU NEED ANY HELP?"
"I'm sorry. I think the tsunami of smell in here has clogged my ears. Do you happen to have a Q-tip?"
"Why don't you just come find me if you have any questions!" She snarled as she stomped away. I truly didn't mean to piss her off.
Browsing through the racks and racks of candles, I noticed that the powers that are Yankee Marketing had attemted to broaden their reach over the consumer. Now they have vases. Car air fresheners. Wax burners.
I know another name for a wax burner. It's called a 'candle.'
I had been labeled a 'Problem Customer.' June Cleaver #1 had sent June Cleaver #2 to assist me. This one must have spent a fair amount of time with Eddie Haskill. She was quite polite, but I'm certain that every time I turned my back she was giving me the finger. She was also not a day under 412 years old. Damn me for not being able to be sarcastic to geriatrics.
"What are you looking for, sweetie?"
"Uh, just something that smells good."
"Is it for your house?"
Ummmm. Nice question. How many customers come in, on a daily basis, buying a candle NOT for their house. Do people buy garage candles? Candles for boats? For riding mowers? Gym lockers? Are you kidding?
"No, it's for my sock drawer."
"Well, you might want to think about getting one of our automobile air fresheners instead, since an open flame in a closed drawer might be considered a fire haza-"
"I was only kidding. It's for my house."
"Well then. Follow me." She was beginning to snarl, too. Shit.
"We have these lovely Christmas Scents half off. How about Mistletoe? Christmas Wreath? Jack Frost?"
"I don't think so. First of all, Jack Frost was a completely shit movie. How can Micheal Keaton degrade himself with such a terrible film? Don't you think? My Christmas wreath at the house created a helluva mess when I failed to take it down until mid-January, and the Mistletoe just sounds gay. Do you have anything else?"
"Well, over here we have the Macintosh Apple Scent. It's one of our more popular fragrances."
"I don't think that would work. I had a hard enough time getting a grasp on my PC. I don't want to start over. Plus, the thought of a portion of the proceeds going to line Bill Gates' pocket made me just throw up in my mouth a little. Pardon me." Luckily I was standing right beside the Voluptuous Vurp candle section. I opened a jar, emptied my mouth into it, and we proceeded.
"Here we have a new scent. Milk and Cookies. What do you think?" She asked as she popped the top and held the jar under my nose.
"I smell the cookies. Where is the milk? Does that smell come later? Do you have to buy that seperately?"
"Well, actually it just smells like cookies."
"Then why didn't you just name it 'cookies?'"
"I really couldn't answer that."
"I don't think that's the candle for me. I'm trying to lose weight and I fear it might be too tempting. You understand."
"Here is this month's featured scent. Midsummer's Night."
"I didn't know you sold literary candles! I tell you what, I'm a big fan of Grisham. Do you have The Pelican Brief candle? The Firm candle? How about The Rainmaker?"
"We have Splash of Rain."
"Let's move on."
"Here's a popular Spring scent. It's called Wedding Day."
"Hmmm. Smells like cherries."
"You know, if you burn this one and a White Zinfandel candle at the same time, it smells like busted cherries. That's an employee secret."
"You're shitting me, right?"
Old people who make sexual innuendos kick major ass.
But she was getting annoyed.
I was getting annoyed.
This was getting annoying.
"How about this one. It provides a strong, sweet smell. It's called Cinnamon Stick. Smell."
"What do you think?"
"I'm pretty certain my septum just deviated. Can I get a tissue? And for the love of God recap that bastard. You're fogging up the store windows."
And then I saw it.
The perfect candle for me.
It reminds me of awkward youth and refined adulthood.
It reminds me of drunken nights and 5-star meals.
It reminds me of elegant hotels and one specific college bar bathroom.
It reminds me of of pain, pleasure, blood, sweat, and tears.
Only problem is, for about 5 days a month I can't get it to heat up. It won't light. I try to warm it up, I use different flames, I try it in different rooms, and it just sits there staring at me like I'm an asshole.
But I still love it.