The hospital’s gift shop is the one gift shop I can think of where its contents are meant to be redistributed within the building’s walls. The refrigerator case with zombified Gerber daisies and the rack of overpriced candy I get, but the other shit in there is straight up cray-cray.
Who buys this shit? Emotionally vulnerable and trapped friends/relatives of patients, that’s who.
These music boxes play “Wind Beneath My Wings” and “You Light Up My Life”. There’s a whole carousel of them. I weep for the relationships that are either too repressed to vocalize such thoughts or too literal for nuanced love. (Maybe I just weep because I’m a cold oyster who’ll never know such unironic, grammatically-tolerant love.)
I want to know why the designer thought to pair “The words you are looking for are, ‘Yes Dear’” with a Mediterranean olive and bread spread. What does it mean?? That Italian and Greek spouses are simpering?
Little Aryan angels not your style?
How about this assortment of Neil Gaiman rejects? I especially like the buxom phlebotomist on the far left with blood dripping out of her mouth.
Or you can buy one of your own smiling, brown Native American babies. Not culturally insensitive at all.
Especially compared to these $15 statues in the shape of your favorite hospital characters, including the curvaceous Latina nurse with sassy eyeshadow and Divine eyebrows. (Like those Homies you used to be able to buy from candy machines by the cashiers in grocery stores, only 60x the price!)
Oh, but here’s the one reminder that not everybody’s in the hospital for bad news.