Looking for the perfect idea, rummaging around my brain, bears a striking resemblance to being in a department store. Let’s assume that there’s an unexpected amount of rooms, surprisingly alert wit, universal transformability and a few tragic moments halfway down the stairs. The Ecoesque labyrinth of thoughts – own version: a virtual entity, but with an endless range of goods and a food court on the fourth floor. There would be lines of shelves full of memories, like in a child’s friendship book, and you could treat yourself to a new idea. But let’s head back to reality: real department stores aren’t like that at all – except for the food court maybe, where you can share thoughts and ideas.

I’d been waiting in the checkout line for ages now, and despite the well-working AC, I seemed to be running out of breath. The salesgirl and her scanner bleeped their way through mountains of clothes; dreams with a tag and an anti-theft device were quickly folded and put into plastic bags. That way, they could start their journey from the rack to the daily grind in order to help shape cultural and individual identities. While waiting, I asked myself: What’s the use of my dream with a tag? Supporting an appropriate appearance in a business environment and conveying an air of competence? Hardly. I somehow couldn’t figure out how the polka-dotted thingy on the black plastic hanger should shape my self-perception. Well, making an entrance is an art and always depends on the context – there’s an endless list of variations.

Just then, the polka-dotted something was pulled out of my hands, and the well-known chain of bleeping scanner, glaring price display, and shoving money over the counter took its course. I watched as my new acquirement was folded and bagged. Then it left the department store with me to face the drizzly grey weather, looking as happy and colorful as I felt at that moment.