I needed a particular candle today and I remembered that there’s a little metaphysical shop just down the road from my house- I hadn’t been to it in ages, mostly because it was your run of the mill everything-is-wiccan-and-ridicuously-expensive store, but they have these little chime candles 3 for a dollar that I like, so I stopped in.

I met their grey cat in the gravel parking lot- he yelled until I payed attention to him, then he led me in through the wisteria trellis and into the shop. It was so idyllic and pretty that I forgot why I hadn’t been for such a long time. I smelled all the incense, met their little poodle named Luke who also took a liking to me and rolled over for belly rubs, looked at some dragon figurines. There was some mislabeled stuff, but I’m not really expecting much and don’t have the energy to rock the boat- I just get my candles and head to the register. Thinking that I’d try my luck, I asked the owner, a nice looking old lady, if she ever had any Hellenics come through. She gave me the blankest look I’d seen. Cool, that’s okay- it was a long shot anyway, but after I explained myself she starts talking and I can’t get away.

She’s listing everyone who ever comes in, which in theory is interesting because apparently there’s a small concentration of Christian witches and Strega where I live- but she keeps equating pagan=wiccan=witchcraft and I’m just smiling and nodding because I’m pretty tired and don’t want to deal and then she starts talking about a certain group of people (using a slur) and how (she says) they like to steal from her yard and I’m just like LADY CAN WE NOT

So I remembered why I don’t go there.