Tarts…

Look what has appeared down the street from my office: one of those it-doesn’t-matter-how-much-rent-we’re-paying-for-this-space-because-the-whole-damn-space-is-really-an-advertisement-designed-to-rebuild-a-flagging-brand “product experience” restaurant/gift shop things. I took a quick look inside and had to flee, because it was packed, and utterly chaotic as a visual environment. I also took a look at the menu and decided that the various “treats” on offer weren’t worth either the half hour it would take to get them or the five bucks they cost.

Pop-Tarts fall squarely into that category of foods that I actually like less than I think I do. After that tickle of nostalgia around the thought that “hey I buy my own food, I could have Pop-Tarts if I want”, I realize that all things being equal, I actually don’t want. But I really did grow up in a simpler time, because it’s shocking to me that my mom used to send me off to school with two chocolate Pop-Tarts in my gut as breakfast (sorry Mom!). I didn’t complain then and I’m not complaining now, but damn, that was some dodgy nutritional thinking we were all engaged in then.

The other thing that is really odd to me about this “retail environment” is that the dark lighting and pseudo-industrial air of furtive indulgence immediately reminded me of the fact that the storefront currently occupied by the Pop-Tart World used to be occupied in the 70′s and 80′s by a concern called Peep Land where adult products of all sorts were sold and where men drifted through the back booths in search of something a bit racier than a toaster pastry. I couldn’t help superimposing those two time frames in my mind and the floors started to feel distinctly sticky. Thus, my hasty retreat.