Wednesday, October 13, 2021 // The Statement — 2
Fever dreams and corporate schemes
The store was cold and dark with figures
appearing out of the minimal light offered by
the piercing fluorescent bulbs — a less than
ideal situation for someone with no recollec-
tion of where they were. Or what they were
doing there. Or how they got there in the
first place.
I frantically searched for signs of any-
thing that might answer any, if not all, of
my questions. All I saw was a long, narrow
hallway that seemed never-ending. The only
image protruding out of the ongoing horizon
was a faint neon sign that read “GROCERY.”
Figures. A minuscule supermarket.
I looked to my left and then to my right.
Five rows of metal shelves lined the edges of
both sides. There appeared to be indistinct
products organized in a tight, tidy fashion.
Nothing was out of place, and each product
was in perfect alignment with the next. The
arrangement was ultra-functional, yet the
sense of order felt militaristic.
I needed to know more.
I began to walk down the aisle, one foot
apprehensively placed in front of the next,
directing my eyes to any image that caught
my attention. As I began treading forward,
the visuals surrounding me became pro-
gressively clearer. The once indistinguish-
able objects that sat on chilling, lifeless
counters began morphing into unfamiliar
products — ones that would not be in a stan-
dard grocery store.
The first thing I could identify was a
seemingly endless supply of machinery,
including a plethora of interchangeable
parts. Each item resembled one another,
with identical ridges and nooks. As I peered
my head in closer to read the item descrip-
tion, the advertisement’s words jumped out
at me: “Why buy multiple parts when you
could have one that does it all? SAVE TIME
AND MONEY! MAXIMIZE EFFICIEN-
CY!”
Though I had seen similar marketing
techniques before, this product’s plea for
productivity and cost-effective shopping felt
strangely out of the ordinary. Why did inter-
changeable parts — a staple invention of the
industrial revolution — need to manipulate
consumers into purchasing?
I felt an unstoppable urge to continue
moving forward. I didn’t see anyone behind
me, yet I couldn’t ignore the feeling that peo-
ple were waiting for me to continue. I felt I
had no choice but to proceed.
As I kept moving forward, the light in
the store grew marginally brighter, yet all
the more piercing. Its power illuminated
the advertised items, making it significantly
easier for me to distinguish what they were.
Yet as these products became clearer, they
simultaneously grew more foreign and
bizarre.
The department began with a section
of over-the-counter “study drugs,” phar-
maceuticals like Adderall, Vyvanse and
Ritalin — medicine I was almost positive
you needed a prescription for. Study drugs
contorted into the store’s book department,
filled it with “must-read” literature such as
“Productivity for Dummies,” “The Grass
Is Always Greener: How to Compete With
Your Neighbor” and an unnecessary amount
of text dedicated to the “pull yourselves up
by the bootstraps” theory. The sales section
offered “UNBEATABLE DEALS!” — dis-
counted prices of “The Communist Mani-
festo” and “Das Kapital,” both published
and distributed by Amazon. Though these
products were on sale, the inventory seemed
virtually untouched, with dust collecting on
the crevices of every copy.
As I moved past the publication depart-
ment, I stumbled into a segment titled
“Games and Gimmicks.” Right off the bat,
the region was dominated by an inordinate
amount of Monopoly boxes, offering all
themes and variations imaginable. Strangely
enough, it appeared that Monopoly was the
only board game the store sold, besides a
one-off row of Hungry Hungry Hippos. Go
figure.
Unlike the game section’s lack of diverse
offerings, the gimmicks this mysterious
store offered felt right out of a fever dream.
Suddenly, I was surrounded by products I
couldn’t have dreamt up on even the most
outlandish of nights.
Adam Smith’s Invisible Hand. A brand
of lollipops known as Boot Lickers. Krys-
ten Sinema and Joe Manchin bobbleheads.
Globalization Globes, levied by an export
tax. Tortoiseshells with Mitch McConnell’s
head. X Æ A-12 baby dolls. Apple products
with expiration dates. A life-sized idol of Jor-
dan Belfort, with a voice box that declares
“Sell me this pen” upon the pull of a string.
Where did these items come from? Who
could’ve manufactured them? And bet-
ter yet, who’s actually purchasing them? I
looked around with an eerie sense of amaze-
ment, racking my brain for answers.
Suddenly, a ubiquitous female voice pro-
truded through the walls: “Please proceed
forward to maximize customer experience.”
I recognized the robotic, yet comforting
feminine rhythm from somewhere, but I
couldn’t put my finger on it. I looked to the
top of the walls for speakers, evidence of
familiarity, and realized the store’s sound
system consisted of rows of Echo Dots — the
all-encompassing voice was none other than
Alexa. I listened dutifully, motivated by an
unshakable sense of fear, and continued on
through the shop floor.
Next came the health and food depart-
ments, kicked off by an abundance of Mark
Zuckerberg-sponsored sunscreen, babyface
anti-aging cream and Kardashian-endorsed
diet pills. “LOSE WEIGHT FAST!” the
bottles screamed out, leading me to question
my body shape in a store devoid of critical
onlookers. The supplements dwindled into
top-shelf meats and produce. I marveled
at the beauty of the shining kale, spinach
and arugula, all supplied by Monsanto. The
greens were regularly upkept by a mist-
ing sprinkler, set off every five minutes on
the dot. The gorgeous array of vegetables
was halted by the magnificence of wagyu
beef and wild-caught salmon, all leading
up to dry-aged ribeye garnished with gold
flakes. I had never seen such stunning and
nutritious food in one congregate area.
Yet my amazement quickly dwindled as I
read a small sign conveniently placed at the
end of the section, preaching “PRODUCE
AND MEATS RESERVED FOR THE 1%
INCOME BRACKET. VIOLATORS WILL
BE PROSECUTED.”
I let out a large sigh, characterized both
by disgust and exhaustion, yet continued
down the aisle hoping only to avoid trouble.
Thank god I didn’t touch anything. The
coldness of the store almost instantaneously
morphed into a hot, desert-like climate, leav-
ing me begging for sustenance. Unfortu-
nately, the only products this area sold were
White Castle’s cheeseburger sliders and
Arby’s Roast Beef.
I had to get out of here. I was uneasy,
uncertain, uncomfortable and unwelcome.
I no longer wanted to explore my surround-
ings — I needed to locate an exit. The only
way through is through. I picked up my pace,
catalyzing an unprovocative yet steady jog,
desperate to find the end of the perpetual
grocery store.
As I ran without an end in sight, I shuffled
by the “exclusive items” department.
Stock options. Financial loopholes. Con-
gressional votes. Government access codes.
Buy one, get one free TV networks. Jeff
Bezos’ business blueprints. Donald Trump’s
tax returns.
All items were available only to those in
.1% income bracket.
And even with these high-profile, ever-
desired options, the most concerning was yet
to come. The sign described them as exploit-
ed Workers. “LOW STOCK — ACT FAST!
CAPABLE HUMAN LABOR! AVAILABLE
FOR MAXIMUM HOURS NEEDED AND
MINIMUM PAY.”
My jaw dropped and my lower lip quiv-
ered with fear. How was this possible? How
was this allowed? My body was shaking,
eyes widened with terror.
“Need any help?” I heard as a man
touched my shoulder, and I was startled by
the fact that someone else had been here
the entire time. I turned around. It was the
University of Michigan’s President, Mark
Schlissel.
I shook my head softly, attempting to dis-
guise my frantic state of mind. I didn’t want
to cause a scene. I didn’t want to be noticed.
I had to escape.
“Find what you’re looking for?” he asked
with an off-putting cheeriness in his tone.
He appeared to be a store employee, one that
was particularly unbothered by the apoca-
lyptic surroundings. I worked up the cour-
age not only to speak, but lie my way out.
“Actually, I’d love to be directed toward
the exit. I have an emergency at home I have
to tend to,” I explained weakly.
“You’re in the right place then! The cash
register is right ahead,” he gestured forward.
I proceeded onward and was astounded
by the sight of three identical, late-aged
white men, each wearing black jackets,
white shirts and red ties. Their wrinkles all
tattooed the same areas of their faces and
hands. The men appeared to be copy-and-
pasted, with robotic body languages similar
to that of the Agents in “The Matrix.”
“How can we help you today?” they said
with a monotone, yet somehow condescend-
ing voice.
“Can you please point me in the direction
of the exit?” I asked politely, fronting a care-
fully constructed smile to hide my panic.
“You have to purchase your items before
you can leave,” the men explained in unison.
I was perplexed. I had no items in hand to
purchase.
BY ANDIE HOROWITZ , STATEMENT MANAGING EDITOR
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