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Build-A-Bear Workshop is a criminal enterprise. What else would you call an organization that lets children have whatever they want? With no regard for the guardian? Even candy store employees will mind their fucking business until you’re at the register. The innocence of their disturbing little facade might convince their target demographic (children and others frequently experiencing zoonotic diseases), but make no mistake: their goofy little teddy bears are a front, like those mattress stores that were everywhere a decade ago. Money laundering? Embezzlement? What’s the word for when a place rips off an unassuming aunt or uncle accompanying a small child? “Willingly rendering services” to me or anyone with a “credit card?” That’s the highest-level scamming of all. I took a child to Build-A-Bear and the bear-maker asked if, in addition to the little heart, the child wanted to add in an $8 “scent packet” to make the bear smell good. A piece of fabric spritzed with Febreeze? Are you joking? It’s an animal. It doesn’t need to smell good. The last time I was in close proximity to an animal, it smelled like spit and I wanted to return it to sender. The child I was chaperoning had sense and declined the scent packet, but why put those ideas in her head? At the very least, if the promise is to build a bear, they should only sell teddy bears. God forbid a child choose one of these fuckass four-legged creatures (dog, cat, POKEMON??) because now, you’re stuck buying two pairs of shoes for those two sets of feet. You better sell all your jewelry before walking in, because now Mint Ice Cream the Third or whatever can’t live without little bear-shaped Sambas. None of this is the child’s fault, by the way. A child should be able to create a beautiful memory! I remember when my cousin took me to Build-A-Bear as a child, and I loved all of it! I remember kissing the little heart and watching a lady pump fluff into a cloth sack, which transformed into an actual teddy bear I outfitted in a cheer outfit. Decades later, I believe that man is a snake who should be audited by the IRS immediately, but at the time, it felt like one of the greatest days of my life because at eight years old, it probably was. I hope this child remembers her time at Build-A-Bear too, and that it’s maybe the greatest day of her life. But maybe the next greatest day of her life can be at like, a park? Or even at home? Three hours of Peppa Pig could surely do the trick.