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Published January 06, 2012

The serenity goes on for smiles and smiles and smiles. Oh the health food store. As the name implies, a health food store should be a store where all of the food is healthy. With isles of carrots, broccoli, rice cakes and vitamin water. So as a resolution to the bettering of my health I take a trip to the local Feel Rite (notice that the names of you favorite HFS imply the feeling you will get when you go there. Also notice that 'Rite', for our local HFS, is the 'wrong' spelling in this context). The automatic doors open. Not the type of automatic doors you will find in a major supermarket with the sensor at the top that open majestically and inviting as you walk up like a welcoming to a magic castle. These are the automatic doors that have the long rubber mat that you need to jump up and down on to detect your weight. Then follows the odd accordion style folding of what appears to be an old screen door. This is when it hits you. The scent of every hippie you have ever known. The smells that literally takes you back into the manger scene under someones Christmas tree. I beleive these are scents of frankincense, myrrh (yes this is the correct spelling) and unwashed armpits. Let's see...where are the isles of delicious nutritious fruits and vegetables? I pass by an old folding table marked as discount items. The dusty table is adorned with Lou Ferrigno 'Hulk' size protein bars, banana paste dog wash, nine different exotic berry drinks who's names I've never heard of but I believe should still be refrigerated, and random bars of scented soaps. The music seems to be the soundtrack from Nepoleon Dynamite or any random elevator from the early 70's. The small slightly refrigerated display cases hold cheeses that are that off orange color. Not the shiny orange that I am used to on American cheese, but this darker plasticy looking orange you might see on kids toys made in China. The temperature of the case seems to be ever so slightly lower than the temperature in your pants pocket. Since it doesn't seem to be real cheese we are lead to believe it doesn't need real refrigeration. On I go through the store looking for the healthy food I was craving to bring my body to optimal performance. Each isle bringing a new discovery. Sleepy time oil, teas for every occasion and bodily function, shampoos to ward off bad omens and so far the only healthy food I found was "Petey's howlin' good for you" dog treats. Each product containing a little * with a disclaimer that in no way this product does what it says on the label. It's time for me to ask for help. Although the total of 8 isles should not be overwhelming the amount of different types of products is astounding. Ahead of me I see an employee. Her hair is really long and has a wavy kink that can only be produced by weeks of shampoo deprivation. She seems to be levitating ever so slightly above the floor. As she greets me when I walk up to her, I am instantly taken to a place of verbal slow motion. As she welcomes me and asks me how she can help, I believe I watched the sun actual set through the window behind her. I'm not entirety sure though since the window was mostly covered with newspaper ads and coupons. My first thought is "forget the health food. Take me to the the isle where the stuff your on is." The magic vitamin isle. After finally adding a few random vitamins to help me wake up, concentrate, pee and sleep, and of course the omen deterrent shampoo, I make my way to the cash register with the bean sprout sandwich I obtained from the mini deli in the back (also not refrigerated). Yes this is literally a 'cash' register. Any attempt to use a credit card will have the slow motion lady hand typing your number into a machine and, with 100% certainty, misplacing a decimal point in the total price. It's a big pain explaining to the credit card company that you didn't spend $256,005.69 on beeswax. So if you plan on going, bring cash and stock up on the goldenseal tea to help you pass your next drug test. If you like what you read there's more at tutsthoughts.com

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