Maquinna's Poop du Jour

The Bear Necessities

Yes, my sister is back on the west coast now. No one got killed or maimed on the way, either. I did, however, have to endure her request to be taken to a local outlet of the 'Build-A-Bear Workshop' to pick up - get this - back to school outfits for her childrens' stuffed toys.

She first mentioned that she wanted to do this long before she arrived. I had to look it up on the internet - I had no idea what it was. I am not yet a parent, so there are many things of which I am ignorant. For those of you who would like to witness the horror first-hand, go here.

I talked to my friend Donna about it on IM (she's also back in B.C.). Her comments: 'sounds like a place where 300-lb. 30 year old women who have a freakily unhealthy fantasy life work'. I'd have to say she was right on the money.

First of all, it's in a mall. A mall, on a gorgeous Friday afternoon. I'm in a fucking mall. You walk in this joint and it's all painted in bright primary colours. I was greeted by the screech of a dozen five-year olds in the middle of creating their own personal bears, some in princess clothing, some in gaily-patterned pajamas, and some in allegedly sexy clothing that created the effect of Britney Spears in serious need of an all over body wax job.

Three people seemed to be working - none of them less than 300 lbs. Maybe you have to LOOK like a stuffed bear to work there? One was ringing up purchases, another was dealing with the birthday party, and another was at the 'stuffing machine'.

My sister, Kim, made a beeline for the things she wanted. Some little denim outfit with faux leopard trim for my niece Alyssa's unicorn (a unicorn is a bear?), and a football outfit for my nephew's creature - whatever the heck it was. I started looking around the store. There are about two dozen different bears you can choose from, all priced around $20. But that's just for the bear, and, I assume, the stuffing. Many of the bears aren't bears at all. Some are dogs or cats or giraffes or - get it now, before it's retired - a pink flamingo.

So, you pick out your animal carcass, then you take it to the stuffing machine. If you're older, I think they let you stuff it sort of yourself. If not, then someone stuffs it for you. You get to decide when it has reached its optimum squishiness.

No responsible bear owner could leave with a naked bear, so there are literally hundreds of different ensembles to choose from. Clothing, costumes, shoes and accessories. Even licensed Harley-Davidson leather. Wigs, seriously. You can give your bear Cher hair. And you guessed it, there's no way your bear gets dressed for under $30.

I'm dazed, but then snapped right out of it by cheers from the birthday party, followed by the sight and sound of a dozen small children in their party best, hugging their newly stuffed and dressed bears. Then the freaky shit happens. The party leader has them all raise their right hands and take the bear vow. I kid you not. It goes something like this:

"This is my bear. I chose it. I stuffed it. I made it myself. Best friends are forever, so I promise to always take care of my new best friend." Twelve tiny automatons, with twelve furry, glassy-eyed dopplegangers, repeated the words blankly, at top volume. This, apparently, was the cosmic intersection of Orwell's 1984 with Pee-Wee's Playhouse.

Kim's at the register, and I notice that she has the New England Patriots' football uniform for Adam's bear, but no football shoes. And it seems so wrong. I go to the display and choose a pair of striped, Adidas-style cleats. They're $7.00 plus tax. And I'm handing them to my sister, and fishing out the money for them, and mumbling something about spoiling nephews being the privilege of being an auntie.

After which, I walked very briskly out of the store before I was put on a Build-A-Bear Workshop diet of doughnuts and ice cream and was sucked further into its evil vortex. Clearly this was not a safe place.

posted by Maquinna @ 3:27 p.m.