It’s A Pop Tart World; We’re Just Living In It

Having seen the article in the NY Times about the new Pop Tarts World that just opened in Times Square, my friend Michele and I wondered if it took up the old store front (still empty) where the Charmin extravaganza stood (I wrote about that extensively here). Had Pop-Tarts World co-opted the cavernous space from Charmin? The blues of the walls in the Times piece looked strangely reminiscent of the blues in the Charmin Poop-Headquarters. Michele and I went to investigate. Turns out, it is not in the prime real estate once occupied by Charmin and its dancing bears. That will soon be a Forever 21, if I’m recalling correctly. We wondered. The piece in the Times had mentioned the billboard, so we made our way through the pushing crowds, staring up. “It’s probably right in front of us,” I said, looking around, as Michele basically Googled “Pop Tart World”, standing beside me. We finally caved and walked into the Times Square Visitor Center, which I had never been to before, and was stunned by the creepy faded glamour of the entire space, and now I must return. It felt like the end days in there.

There was, however, a young kid in a uniform sitting at a big desk, so I walked up to him and said what very well may be the most embarrassing sentence I have ever uttered: “Can you please tell me how to get to Pop Tart World?”

He looked it up and gave me the address. 42nd Street in between Broadway and 6th, so we were way off. Being typical New Yorkers, we were a bit grumpy, because although that technically may be “Times Square”, if you know that block in particular, then you know that nothing is there, and it really doesn’t qualify as “Times Square”. That block used to have a bunch of old run-down buildings that were very cool and had old theatres in them, where you could go see burlesque shows, or off-off-Broadway shows. No more. That entire side of the street (the north side) was torn down some years ago, to be replaced by a gleaming office building. Across the street, however, where the subway stop is, was a pretty dodgy block. I used to walk it every day on my way to work. Scaffolding spanned almost the whole block and there were times when it was like a tent city under there. There was a snack stand, but you never wanted to stop to buy anything because the riff-raff (compassion fatigue set in YEARS ago) hung around on the periphery, making you not want to stop. And the scaffolding just made it feel more claustrophobic. To top it all off, right at the subway station there, there was a born-again Christian, or whatever the hell he calls himself. I call him Annoying. He has been stationed there for years. I suppose he does no harm. He just babbles into his microphone about how horrible we all are, and how we need to be saved. That was his “spot”. Right by the subway station, and right across from the snack stand, under the scaffolding. I’m telling you: it was a crazy 40 feet of pavement.

The Pop Tarts World store stands right at that spot, a little over to the right of the snack stand. The scaffolding is gone (at least on that end of the block), so it looks like a completely different street. I’m telling you: I walked that block every day for years, and there was always scaffolding. To me, that street WAS its scaffolding. New Yorkers know what I’m talking about. To see it without that scaffold made me feel embarrassed for it. It looked raw and naked.

Smack-dab in the middle of the block, surrounded by …. NOTHING … is Pop Tarts World. It seriously has no storefronts on either side of it, just empty office buildings … so it looks truly strange. In Times Square everything is weird and overblown – so none of it looks weird. But take one of those stores and put it down on a virtually empty block, and it will seem strange and out of place (and also eye-catching). Pop Tarts World looks like the headquarters of some cult.

Crowds were pouring in. The born-again Christian with the mike was still in his same spot, although now fully revealed because the scaffolding was gone, so as the hungry masses lined up to go into Pop Tarts World, born-again Christian berated them about their evil-ness. I love New York. I love religious freedom in all its nuts and annoying guises.

We approached. From the first moment, we realized that Pop Tarts World was not run with the clinical precision that the Charmin joint had been, where everything was organized to a degree that you felt completely controlled by a force larger than yourself, and I’m not talking about your need to “go”. The powers-that-be at Pop Tarts World had not gotten their act together enough to put up a sign stating the Hours of Pop Tarts World, so a hand-written sign was taped up beside the door – taped up! – AND – there was a cross-out in the sign. Michele peeked on the other side, and saw the very same words written in a ballpoint pen, which the Pop Tart bosses had obviously deemed too light. We imagined the scenario. “Shit, we’ve gotta put a sign out. Someone write a sign.” Some employee writes the hours in a ballpoint pen. Pop Tart boss looks and says, “Nah, too light. Let’s bust out the Sharpie.” And once you’ve made an error in the sign (although the error is not clear), wouldn’t you want to just start over with a clean sheet? Does no one know Photo Shop at Pop Tarts World? Couldn’t they get a better sign, even on the fly?

But the best sign of all greeted us on the side as we entered:

I love the bluntness of it.

Inside we were greeted with chaos. There was no recognizable cashier area, which made me think of a certain tour of a certain cult facility I once took. Merchandise was laid out on tables: Pop Tart T-shirts, Pop Tart keychains, Pop Tart postcards (with close-ups of Pop Tarts, which turned them into something unrecognizable – like a bad Jackson Pollock), Pop Tart mugs. The light was low and blue, with swirling logos appearing on the floor.

In the back was the Food area, with giant menus on the wall. You could get Pop Tarts custom made. Do you yearn for a cinnamon topping with raspberry filling? You got it. There was Pop Tart sushi, little rolls of pop tarts and filling – being furiously made by a team of Oompa Loompas in the back. Everyone who worked there appeared to be around 14 years old. Hence, the Sharpie sign outside. They were doing their best. They are teenagers. There was no one guiding you this way or that. Once you entered the blue-lit doom of Pop Tart World, you were on your own.

Hip music was playing. I couldn’t help but compare Pop Tart World to Charmin: Enjoy the Go, even though I know they have nothing to do with each other. At Charmin, ridiculous videos showing a multiethnic cast of happy people with pompoms played in an endless loop, the song something along the lines of “We love number one, we love number two, at Charmin …. enjoy the GO!” Nerd City. Here, they were going for something different. Trying to appeal to a younger hipper crowd. With … Pop Tart memorabilia? It was so weird! Is Pop Tart hurting for customers right now?

There was a giant vending machine towering above us near the entrance. It is called THE VARIETIZER.

And not sure how it works because the damn thing was broken when we were there, as a sad little sign announced on the touch-screen. Michele made a small sound of sympathy and compassion when she saw that. “God, that’s so sad,” she murmured. Michele felt sorry. For the Pop Tart Varietizer.

The brave yet defeated Varietizer seemed to go hand-in-hand with the tragic hand-written sign outside. The back of the Varietizer was propped open, showing us the strange innards of it, like a console in a rocket-ship, a hollow tube, and it was filled to the brim with baffled teenagers wearing Pop Tart T-shirts, trying to figure out what was wrong with the machine. I am not kidding. I walked by and caught the eye of a 15 year old girl, whose very countenance said, “I’m a teenager. I could be at the beach right now. Why am I instead inside a broken Varietizer?”

The crowds pushed up against the countertop in the back, four or five people deep, so we decided against buying some Pop-Tart Sushi, a decision I now regret. Michele did point out a huge box standing beside the counter that said, in large letters: MULTI PURPOSE SPOONS. What on earth can that mean? A spoon that moonlights as a tricycle? A spoon that also can split the atom? What else can one do with a spoon? We loved that. Michele kept laughing, “Multi-purpose spoons ….”

It is clearly a proud day for Burton Morris.

We looked through the memorabilia.

There was nothing that would have stopped me from putting something in my pocket and strolling out. I am not a shoplifter. I am just making an observation that the place was a madhouse, the door was unmonitored, there was no metal detector, and the place was staffed by baffled Tweens. Not that I am dying to have a Pop Tart T-shirt to wear when I work out at Curves, or that I really really need to have the following poster on my wall:

Sometimes I do not understand this world.

But I suppose that’s the fun of it.

As we walked away into the slowly gathering New York twilight, Michele said wistfully, “I’m a little bit disappointed.”

Comments like that make me realize that while I may not understand this world, and Pop Tarts’ World least of all, I sure do love it.