Build A Bear. Just do it.

There’s nothing that expresses individual love and devotion like a mass produced, widely sold teddy bear. The good people at Build A Bear figured this out and cornered the market on the whole You-make-it-so-it-feels-special-when-in-reality-it’s-not-special-at-all genre. Many a teenage romance has been saved with a Build A Bear, since the guy can the deliver the line:

Guy: I stuffed it special just for you. (and then more quietly) I was at the mall getting Halo 3 anyway.

Well I’ve never had a relationship last more than the required two weeks before you can give better gifts than gum and fast food, but recently I passed this milestone and it was off to Build A Bear I went. I was both nervous and excited, with various questions swirling through my brain. Is it going to be fun? Is it going to be awkward? Will I get an interesting story out of it? Well the answers are no, yes, and you tell me.

When I first went in I was aurally assaulted by the Disney on Crack soundtrack. They were blasting Hannah Montana like there was about to be a pedophile rave. It wasn’t too easy on the eyes either, what with giant murals of teddy bears running in fields of wheat and rainbows covering pretty much everything else. I can’t imagine a situation where a brown bear could find himself in a field of wheat. I guess public schooling really did kill my imagination.

After overcoming the initial shock, I starting walking towards a sales associate. The easiest visual I can give would be a Stepford Wife on more Ritalin than that kid from Jerry Maguire. She was standing perfectly still, beaming over the Willy Wonka-esque bear factory, and she slowly turned her funhouse clown smile at me.

Associate: Hi! Welcome to Build A Bear! How can we help you today?

Me: I want to build a bear. (What the hell else would I be doing there?)

Associate: Great! First we’ll need to choose a body that you like, then we’ll stuff him, give him a heart, insert a special message from you, sew him up tight, scrub him until he’s nice and clean, get him all dressed, and finally create his birth certificate! Let’s get started!

Me: (scared) I changed my mind. I want to leave.

But it was too late. Once you say you want to build a bear you have entered into a verbal contract that can only be broken by 10 years of servitude in the Build A Bear cotton picking fields. I was first led to a wall, and I mean a wall, filled with hollowed-out bear carcasses, each staring down at me, pleading for some internal organs and a bus ticket. I picked the softest one they had, and the associate plucked him from obscurity to become my ’special’ bear.

We went over to the stuffing station where she sat at a chair beside a giant glass case filled with cotton. There was a metal pipe sticking out of the side of the case and a foot pedal coming from underneath. The associate turned a small knob and the cotton in the case began whirring around.

Associate: Now while you’re stepping on the pedal I’m going to fill your special friend with cotton until he’s just as fluffy as you want him.

Some guy said the exact same thing to me in an airport bathroom one time.

I’m not exactly sure why she couldn’t step on the pedal herself, but she gazed her soulless smile up at me until I did it. I guess it’s all part of the ‘fun’. She slid the metal pipe into Mr. Bear’s most private of areas and began moving him around, filling his head, arms, and legs with cotton. She then started filling up his torso, and once he got to what she determined to be as fluffy as I wanted him, she turned the knob to shut the machine off. I knew that foot pedal didn’t give me any real control.

After that I was supposed to pick a small, fabric heart out of a bin. I really don’t get how nobody else finds that totally morbid. I picked the heart and tried to hand it to the associate.

Associate: You have to put the love into it. Give it a kiss.

I gave it a small kiss and again reached out my hand.

Associate: Now push it in and put it in just the right place.

She stretched out the bear’s back for me to push the heart in, and I swear the bear cut his eyes to me and gave me a very distinct ‘I will get you, you bastard’ look. I quickly put in the heart hoping this would be the last thing I would have to shove into my bear. No dice. I then had to record a personal message for the recipient onto a small button/speaker device that would also end up in the bear. The associate handed me the recorder, smiled, and waited. Turns out your most personal message isn’t so personal when it’s getting recorded in front the Build A Bear staff and the 20 kids and parents waiting their turn. I had already decided what my message should say but under the circumstances I had to leave out the parts about whipped cream, chocolate syrup, and chili. Yes chili.

After I had once again violated my bear and the saleslady had sewn him up, she pointed me in the direction of a bathtub. Only it was made out of plastic, and had no actual depth to it. But there was another pedal so I got my hopes up.

Associate: Now you need to go over there and wash your bear. When you push the pedal air will come out of the faucet and there are brushes to scrub your bear clean.

I can very honestly say that in my 20 years on this Earth I have never felt more alone than in that moment, standing at a plastic tub washing a teddy bear with air while looking out in the mall where passersby sent looks of judgement that O.J. Simpson himself has not seen. I can’t even imagine how many lice-infested heads those brushes have been run through, but God knows the saleslady was standing over me, making sure the brush actually made contact with the bear. I quickly washed him up and then turned to her.

The next step in the chain of humiliation was to dress the bear. The saleslady offered up various costumes in what I believe was an attempt to make my bear the seventh Village People character, but I ended up going with a pair of boxers and some sunglasses. Hey if it’s good enough for me to go to church in then it’s good enough for the bear. After that I created the birth certificate, which was relatively normal compared to the rest of the experience. I paid for the bear and then literally ran through the mall, straight to my car, and drove home. I don’t know how much of my dignity I lost that day, but I know that if it’s anywhere near as much as Mr. Bear lost then I’m in trouble.

Josh

UPDATED!

About 3 weeks after I got the Build A Bear the girl that I got it for dumped me. She said that I “wasn’t boyfriend material” and “didn’t have goals.” So go back and reread the article, but this time remember: Not only was the purchase a complete waste of my $30, the trip itself was a complete waste of my time. Apparently no matter how much thought you put into a Build A Bear, it doesn’t make up for “not having goals.”

Josh