Home Depot is a store for those with homes–it says so in the name. So can you blame me for never particularly enjoying a visit there?
I only go to Home Depot for necessities when I’m not close to any other store that would have them: light bulbs; rugs; fans; plants; shelves. Did I say necessities? I meant random household items. Whatever you want to call them, they’re not fun things to buy.
But yesterday, I had a few minutes before I had to be somewhere, and it was raining, and for some reason, Home Depot seemed like it was beckoning to me. Once inside, I felt comforted. It’s possible it was because that particular Home Depot was the one I had visited multiple times upon moving into my very first apartment in New York. It could be because I went back there many times a few years later when I moved into my very first apartment by myself. Or it might be because I like looking at things for the home and imagining how one day I may buy a house or apartment to furnish and decorate–one whose walls I can paint and floors I can change and room dividers I can knock down, one that I own and can therefore justify leaking so much of my money toward, one that is a testament to my nearly 3 decades on this earth and hard work that got me to this point.
It’s because of all those things, I think, that Home Depot felt like home to me. And also because I was in out of the rain.
While I was browsing, I came up with what should be an excellent spin-off: Apt Depot. They can fill it with miniature rugs, and shelves that don’t require drills, and peel-off wall coverings. The store itself would have creaky floors and never be the right temperature, and sometimes the store next door would be playing its music too loudly. But trust me, this store would be comforting to New Yorkers.