Valentine's Day Hell At A Manhattan Rite Aid

LOWER EAST SIDE, NY — Make your way through the sidewalk sheds and construction zones and public-housing plazas of the south-of-Delancey, east-of-Essex Lower East Side, to the strangely desolate intersection of Clinton and Grand, and you may find yourself pulled toward the industrial glow of a wide, squat Rite Aid on the corner. Maybe you need a Red Bull. A condom. Some Trident or tampons.

We're here to warn you: Resist the pull. Move along. Because what you find inside may haunt you forever.

On or before the evening of Thursday, Jan. 5, inside the Rite Aid at Clinton and Grand — while the rest of the city's drug-store chains were still trying to clear out their Christmas tree ornaments and Santa hats — more than 200 stuffed animals themed to Valentine's Day, of more than a dozen varieties, had been carefully — no, clinically — arranged side-by-side atop the store's every available surface: aisle shelves, makeup kiosks, snack consoles, window sills.

On heart-shaped price tags pierced to their ears, the animals had been categorized in cursive: "Sitting bear." "Laying dog." "Jungle animal." "Sitting dog." "Bear With Heart."

"They're everywhere," a petite female employee said in a hushed voice. As she spoke, she was dwarfed by a disheveled pile of $9.99 "Bear With Heart" specimens looming above her on a top shelf, their paws shackled by pink hearts and their mouths stitched into permanent grins.

American consumers spent approximately $19.7 billion on Valentine's Day products last year — an all-time high, according to the National Retail Federation, which tracks these sorts of things.

Want to put a face to the figure? Look no further than the glassy-eyed, $7.99 "Wild 4 U" monkey servants waiting to be bought and sold in the name of modern love at the Rite Aid on Clinton and Grand.

Three other animals in the store turned out, upon closer inspection, to be of the dancing robot variety.

This was a terrifying discovery to make. When we pressed the paw of the $19.99 "Twisting Dog With Heart," he lurched to life, keeling onto his hind legs and repeatedly twisting his tall, thin Weiner-dog torso — Exorcist style — 90 degrees to the right.

We caught the two others on undercover video:

In the store's "Seasonal" aisle, a 7-foot-tall case of Valentine's Day candy — Russell Stover assorted chocolates in boxes as large as manholes; edible roses; "Smoochies" pug lips; sexy M&Ms; Disney Princess candy necklaces; conversation hearts; Reese's peanut-butter hearts; Warhead hearts; Star Wars hearts; Snoopy hearts; Ninja Turtle hearts; Paw Patrol hearts — faced off against a mostly empty case of leftover Christmas stuff. (And won.)

The store's greeting card section, meanwhile, had been overrun by approximately 500 different types of Valentine's Day cards, most from of them from the American Greetings brand. (Yes, we counted.)

One Gothic-style card said: "My heart is black, but it's all yours. Happy Valentine's Day." An arts-and-crafty-looking card trimmed in pink pom-poms said: "Remember when we had to give everyone in class a Valentine, even if we didn't like them? So glad I don't have to do that anymore. Happy Valentine's Day." A thick, styrofoam card said: "BACON IS AWESOME! BUT YOU'RE SOOOO MUCH BETTER! HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!"

A few were designed to appear as if they'd been written by the recipient's dog or cat. For example: "I'm one lucky cat. You're so good to me that I want to spend all nine lives with you. Happy Valentine's Day."

Then there was this thing:

Late that same Thursday night — more than five weeks before Valentine's Day — we watched a disgruntled male customer rifle through one of three Valentine's Day candy troughs positioned along the checkout line at the front of the store. "Where are the pecan ones?" he said, agitated. "What are these, truffles? Ruffles? I want the pecan ones."

To which a young man behind a cash register answered politely: "Don't worry. We have more Valentine's Day stuff downstairs."

An unofficial Patch survey of four other Rite Aids in Manhattan revealed the Grand Street location to be singular in its Valentine's Day product selection so early in January. (We did find a location in Chelsea with one half-aisle of Valentine's Day candies and a handful of top-shelf Teddy bears, but nothing in same stratosphere as what we'd witnessed on the Lower East Side.)

We asked multiple employees working at the Rite Aid at Clinton and Grand why they supposed their location had been transformed into such an unprecedented and premature shrine to Saint Valentine. None could give an answer; they all just laughed nervously.

Upon spotting us snooping around the store Thursday night, a guy in a Knicks sweatshirt who appeared to be acting as late-night peacekeeper — whether he was actually on payroll was unclear — dutifully intervened.

"You're not allowed to take photos in here," he said.

Undeterred, we returned the following Saturday and tracked down a friendly store manager named Moussa.

Moussa explained that all stocking decisions come down from Rite Aid's corporate headquarters. Still, he defended his Valentine's Day emporium. "We're here to serve the community," he said. "We give the community what they want."

There was only one place left to turn for answers: the Rite Aid corporate communications department.

Asked to explain the insanity at Clinton and Grand, Rite Aid spokeswoman Kristin Kellum said in a statement sent to Patch: "I’m unable to share specifics due to the competitive nature of the information you requested."

However, Kellum said, "as commonly seen in the retail industry, we begin to rollout our seasonal merchandise in advance of the holiday, which allows us to accommodate our customers who like to shop early or last minute. In doing so, offering products prior to the holiday provides our customers with the convenience to plan ahead for the celebration."

Photos by Simone Wilson/Patch