In-Depth-esque report: The saddest place in the world

The latest news story from 2004:

The grey sky hangs lazily above the oversized orange lettering. There is a quiet breeze, the only sign of life between the parking lot and the obscenely indistinct building. The storefront protrudes from the otherwise plane building, and in it I find what I would find in any other supermarket. There are doormats by the entrances on both sides. The carts are where I expect them to be, carelessly contained in their allotted space by minimum wage.
I would welcome rain if it came. It would be a fitting and bitter end to the monotony that is a nubilous Monday afternoon in Fayetteville, Ga., and I'd welcome the consistency, for the sun still strained its way through the clouds and made itself known to the pavement, giving the scene a surreal quality -- the light on the ground, the darkness in the air. Welcome to Hobby Lobby. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
It is, for the most part, deserted. No, only we bedraggled stragglers dared venture outdoors. To think I left the house to escape the gloom!

A Brief, inaccurate history
Hobby Lobby was founded by David Green in 1972 with merely 300 square feet of retail space. And oh! how it's grown. There are now 335 of these grim palaces of craft in as many as 27 states. As the company's website declares, Hobby Lobby Creative Center "can no longer be considered just an arts and crafts store. With departments ranging from crafts, hobbies, picture framing, jewelry making, fashion fabrics, floral..." and so on, "Hobby Lobby is the place to shop with Super Selection, Super Savings... Everyday!" The space between "every" and "day" is conspicuously absent, intimating that maybe the folks at the Hobby Lobby are aware of their own dreariness. As Morrissey or a fifteen-year-old might say, "Everyday is like Sunday. Everyday is silent and grey."

However, Sundays won't be silent and grey at Hobby Lobby. No, Hobby Lobby is dedicated to "honoring the Lord in all we do, operating the company in a manner consistent with Biblical principles." They close on Sunday.

Big Lot's Wife
With the ravaging storms down south and the view of a sullen highway, the scene certainly evokes an Old Testament vibe. I entertain the thought that maybe Hobby Lobby is the ark. It would just be me and the beads then... me and the beads. And the styrofoam solar system for $9.99, roosters "as advertised," and classier glass roosters across the store. A feathered lamp to my left, a "World's Best Santa" hat to my right.
The essence of Hobby Lobby's sadness is in its juxtapositions: next to a "Stickability" sticker displaying John 3:16 hangs a green and orange sticker daring the reader to "Deal with me!" Is that from Proverbs? I wondered. Abound are symbols of both faith and pagany. Santa and Satan. Should I carve an evil skull into my pumpkin, or should it be a decidedly more Christian wolfman? Oh, the decisions I face as the gentle guitar music quietly plucks away.

"Did you find those beads with the other beads?" sighs the man at the checkout counter. The native shakes her head to indicate she hadn't. "Well, I'm going to have to charge you like it's from those beads." He sighs for his own loss of purpose. The music is a cheerful electric piano trickling from the speakers like wine from a box. I leave with a dejected sigh. It finally is raining steadily, and I pause in the downpour before taking shelter in the car. I glance back at the goliath of a wasteland as I'm sure Lot's wife did and I might as well have been turned to a pillar of salt because I don't know if I can go on knowing that such seriously fucked place exists. Hobby Lobby is the saddest place on earth.