Reykjavík Grapevine - 02.06.2017, Side 20

It’s another unremarkable, crisp Tues-
day morning and I’m shaking my head
at the disappointingly calm crowd that
has been queuing in front of Costco
all morning. I’m waiting for people to
shove each other aside like animals
at the watering hole or teenagers at a
Justin Bieber concert. If I have to miss
my morning coffee I would like it to be
worth at least a back slap. Instead, I get a
polite “excuse me” from an old lady who
stepped on my toe. Am I still dreaming?
As I set foot inside, it certainly feels
so. High shelves are stacked with co-
lourful boxes as far as the eye can see,
among piles of TV screens, designer
bags and sparkling jewellery. A ridicu-
lous boombox in the shape of a dog
wearing sunglasses stares back at me
while a life-size brass giraffe stands
majestically among blossoming trees.
From the other side of the entrance hall,
gigantic teddy bears out of my worst
nightmares sit on top of each other, like
a cuddly mountain that threatens to
swallow me whole with a big red smile.
I thought I’d be going to
the opening of a supermar-
ket. Instead, I have just been sent
to the newest entertainment centre.
A simple formula
As I walk around, I take it all in. Consum-
erism isn’t a byproduct of Costco—quite
the opposite. Yet, I feel like I have fallen
through a rabbit hole right to the edge of
the world, forced to play in a videogame
where the more you spend the more you
win. People walk around like robots—
nose in the air, mindlessly guided by in-
visible strings, stacking things in their
cart as if Costco planned to disappear af-
ter the weekend. One lady mulls over two
identical pairs of socks. “It’s just so excit-
ing,” she says. “The prices, the products...
It’s just like in America! It’s so cheap!”
The formula is simple: it’s cheap, thus,
you need it. After all, possession is power.
Fighting for items we are told we desire
wakes up some primitive animalistic
instinct we barely recognise. Besides the
adrenaline we get from the race, possess-
ing or experiencing things before others
elevates our social status and makes us
feel relevant. Like that giant brass giraffe.
Like mice in a cage
All the way through I feel as if we’re be-
ing watched like mice in a cage. Not one
employee is Icelandic and most of
them are not allowed to talk to me. Cost-
co called its best specialists from abroad
to help with the opening, from British
construction workers and car dealers
to sushi experts flown in from Tokyo.
“We often get help from other countries
where we already have established proj-
ects but in a couple of days you’ll be on
your own,” Nicolas from San Diego tells
me after trying to sell me a car. The fact
that I don’t even have a driver’s licence
seems completely irrelevant to him.
Everywhere I go I get the same
staged answer. “Costco is a very ethi-
cal company,” another worker says.
“We look after people, both members
and employees.” We are the best em-
ployer; we bring you quality and value;
we take care of the employees. After
the fourth time I hear it, it gets redun-
dant, and I’m visibly frustrated. I feel
like I’m on a Westworld kind of loop.
“Enjoy! Make sure you spend some
money,” the same man adds as I walk
out. I’m exhausted, slightly nauseous
and I never want to set foot in here again.
Yet, as we drive back to town, there is
only one thing I can think of: where
could I fit that giant brass giraffe?
A Costco Kind
Of Madness
On a loop through the rabbit hole, and how
I can’t stop thinking about that giant brass
giraffe
CULTURE
Words:
Alice Demurtas
Photos:
Art Bicnick
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Iceland's wildlife showed up too
Humans doing human stuff
Is it the angle, or is that
a massive trolley?
SHOW ME THE MONEY:
Hot Dogs
And Inde-
pendence
Until the mid-to-late 19th cen-
tury, most financial transactions
in Iceland were conducted in
vaðmál (homespun wool). How-
ever, since 1922, Iceland has is-
sued its own currency, the króna.
Iceland never being the best at
economic stability, the króna
has lost significant value every
decade since its initial issue, and
in 1981 we decided to cut a couple
of zeros from it, introducing the
current króna. So, let’s meet the…
500 króna note
Every Icelandic banknote depicts
a significant person in the na-
tion’s history (the coins depict
significant fish). The little red 500
króna bill—the lowest denomina-
tion of Icelandic paper money—
portrays 19th century politician
Jón Sigurðsson. He is renowned
across Iceland as the man who re-
sisted Denmark’s constitutional
reform which, in turn, paved the
way for Icelandic independence.
In fact, he’s possibly the most po-
lite revolutionary in history, as
he managed to do all this with-
out once being arrested, or be-
heading anyone. He did however
contract syphilis. For this (well,
sans the syphilis), not only has be
been honoured with his image on
the 500 króna banknote, but Ice-
land’s independence day and na-
tional holiday, June 17th, is also,
and not by chance, Jón’s birthday.
So, what’s it worth?
Sorry Jón, but you’re not actually
worth that much. Currently, 500
króna is worth €4.50, $5, and the
post-Brexit sterling comes in at
£3.90. You can spend your not-so-
valuable note on a cup of coffee
(don’t expect much change), but
I’m afraid it won’t get you anything
stronger. Don’t worry: you can
drown your sorrows in hot dogs in-
stead, with most pylsur costing be-
tween 300 and 450 ISK. I mean, I say
“drown,” but 500 króna will get you
a grand total of one, so savour it. JS
20 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 09 — 2017