Where do all picks go?

Today, I stopped by the music store to buy new picks for my mandolin and guitar. That was the third time I buy picks in the past month. My pick purchase habit is becoming comparable to that of  some dairy products,  like milk. However, afaik, picks are never consumed---at the least, they are lost. The store owner, recognizing me from previous visits asked me: "but where do all the picks go?". I was dumbstruck by her question and by whatever impression  my peculiar chronic picks shopping might have brought to her. I also reflected on whether the picks' affordable price (less than a dollar each) makes them prone to misplacement and mistreatment. Still I wonder where do all picks go...

I shall pose the question in a universal language I have never written before:

C (2)                              Em (2)
Ah, where do all guitar picks go
C (2)                              Em (2)
Ah, where do all mand'lin picks go

Em (3)
At the store of music I always find myself bying new picks
       C (2)
Where do they go?
Em (3)
Our souls after we die, I can't stop thinking if they'll end up where the picks go 
       C (2)
I do not know?

Em7             Em6
All the lost guitar picks
          C          Em
Where could they all have gone?
Em7                Em6
All the lost or dead ones
          C          Em
Where could they all have gone?

The song is based on the Beatles' Eleanor Rigby and inspired by my peculiar chronic picks shopping habits.