The Switch

The Switch

“If you’ll come this way please, we’ll be able to begin.”

Her words seemed innocuous, not quite what I was expecting, but then I find that more often to be the reality of situations I find myself in, than the imagined gratifications of external events that I know shouldn’t exist, but sometimes do.

I couldn’t help but entertain the question, “Where are the aromas meant to blow your mind.” The exact wording almost, of the notice stapled to the utility pole across from Beerman’s Household Emporium. I found the address provided.

The building was not what I’d expected. I had envisioned an old brick building, its façade covered with clinging vines, its leaves the shape of hearts, or close enough to it to give one the hope, that love does provide. The doors, massive wooden planked slabs held together by forged iron hinges and hand fashioned nails. The windows, banks of glass, its panes turning purple with age, separated by " L" shaped brass mullions, sporting a greenish patina caused by the humidity escaping from the ovens within.

The array of stainless tables, copper bottomed pots, gigantic mixing bowls being manhandled by gargantuan kneading hooks that danced to the elliptical orbit of our moon. But alas, none of what I had anticipated was evident.

The building, a modern representation of a chrome tissue box. The windows, mere expanses of undisturbed thoroughness, the deceived remains of birds lying at its feet. The lights, not the visored globes imagined, but florescent monstrosities that blinked in adulterated fashion in time to the intermittent hum of machines hidden behind steel doors labeled with the notice of certain death, should their pretense be breeched. I must admit, I was disappointed.

I followed the mirage of cookie seekers down the tiled floor that burned my eyes like the effervescent glow from a witches caldron. I fondled the walls in hopes of keeping my balance and having a chance of recapturing the sanity this edifice had managed to remove from my unwilling self. 

“Please, this way, and then to your left. We are nearly there. we are gathering in the cafeteria. Refreshments will be provided.” Her slick attempt at personalizing her status to ours by the words, “your left,” confused me, but at the same time endeared me to her. 

The singular hall became entangled with an intersecting one and I found myself in the midst of dozens of robotic like creatures, all wearing glasses and name tags that offered an insight to who they might be, if you were to believe everything dangled before you in a slightly different form of reality.

The lunch room doors burst open as the ensemble flowed onto another illusion of grandeur. Tables sporting stacks of brochures lined their edges. The ovens of the kitchen came into view as I neared the chorus line of trays and Styrofoam cups. Perhaps this was the new technology developed to shorten the baking process, making it possible to supply cookies to all the children of the world at a price UNICEF could afford, and with the expediency it demanded. 

“If I may have your attention.” A different voice, no less ingratiating and certainly making me feel any less apprehensive about the latest development in cookies. A cookie that would revolutionize the entire industry. 

I began to relax, the involuntary gas escaping my stomach beginning to subside as I sipped exceptionally cold water from the lightest Styrofoam cup I had ever experienced. I felt the need to hold it with both hands to keep it from levitating to the ceiling and pretending to be a drone of unimagined creativity.

“If you would all take a seat we will begin.” There were no chairs. Everyone just looked at one another, at a loss for how to proceed.

“Sorry, I forgot we were supposed to meet in the lecture auditorium, but due to a malfunction in the air handling system we were forced to improvise, and here we are. I hope standing is not a problem. If it is, I regret your discomfort.” His explanation seemed somehow lacking, but I was in no position to protest.

There was a large screen that hung from the ceiling and blocked my view of the latest in baking innovations. I couldn’t wait to see the results of the latest technology, hoping it would end in a sampling of its wares when the demonstration was completed. 

The first few slides were of phones and tablets, varying colors, shapes, and a chart describing the latest research into the psychology behind the purchasing mind and how to tap into its recess to achieve maximum sales potential. I could only think that this was the distribution part of the cycle which would bring cookies to all the children of the world in an unprecedented and readily digestible manner.

I had read of research in a magazine left at the bus stop, about scientists knowing the addictive qualities of fast food and sugar impregnated products in particular, and were devising means to not only manufacture nutritious food, but food that although beneficial for you was also of the enviable persuasion of occupying the category of need, rather than simply want.

As I watched the presentation, one example after the next was about technology and how it had been developed to make consumers not only want what was offered, but demand it, regardless of its value to them personally or to the society as a whole. I was impressed.

It was amazing listening to the possibility of an entire generation of people, being lulled into nutritional advantages by the subliminal use of cookies. I began to feel tears forming in my eyes when the light screamed once again from the ceiling and the pulsating distractions of a thousand purring cats seemed to envelop the room.

There are times when it seems like I’m traveling down a hallway, and then I come to this door, at first I’m reluctant to open it, but then curiosity gets the better of me, and because I poses powers I can’t explain, I command it to open. And it does.  There in the center of this room filled with the most beautiful exotic orchids I have ever seen is a paper plate resembling Tibetan china, with a cookie occupying its center. The smell is not what I expected, but then I like popcorn. 

I begin to get the feeling my anticipation has over taken my reality and I need to step back. I do, and there before me are plants of every description and purpose. Mashed potato plants, deviled egg plants, peanut butter, and banana sandwich plants, their bounty for the taking.

It began to dawn on me that I was witnessing the advent of a new era. One that would alleviate hunger and the need for endless hours of preparation; trillions of BTU’s saved by the internal propagation by a plant, of a ready to eat gastronomic delight. 

Contemplating the nature and magnitude of this breakthrough, found me sitting on the floor, watching my reflection in the sheen of the polished concrete floor, ecstatic with excitement, because of this new break through I was witnessing.

“Sir; Can I interest you in a cookie? Take your pick. All those on display are meant for examination. See which provides the new world order a possibility for you.”

The screen held a number of blocks with iconic forms in the center of each. None of the icons invoked the least feeling of recognition. This man from the future must have realized my discomfort and seemed unperturbed when I asked if this was all there was. 

“Yes,” he answered with a smile. Clicking his heels together, he pirouetted like a Marine Chaplin and disappeared into the morass of somber faces.

The woman who initially led us to this holocaust of deception asked if I needed help finding my way to the door. I told her I was perfectly capable of finding an exit when I needed one. She smiled and offered me a cookie. It tasted like plastic, but then perfecting something that is not only nutritious, but captivating, can only happen through trial and error, or so I would assume.

I thanked her and went in search of an exit. I had a compelling desire to find that flyer across from Beerman’s Mercantile, and re-read it for accuracy, and authentic suggestibility. I couldn't shake the feeling I was being followed, but then cookies do that to me.