I Found My Soulmate in the Bargain Bin

My favorite theme camp at Burning Man is the Costco Soulmate Trading Outlet. They provide "top quality soulmates at the lowest possible prices," all under the guise of a corporate structure. I find the concept to be quite clever, and finding a soulmate seems incredibly relevant to finding the meaning of life, so I head over to Costco to learn more about their practices.

They are looking for volunteers to do interviews throughout the week, which sounds like a fun way to find out more about the people that go to Burning Man, so I offer my services. Volunteers must be trained in the morning, so I offer to come back the next day to help out. In the meantime, I decide to fill out an application for my own soulmate.

The concept of soulmate trading is simple. Basically, they have hundreds of people come by to answer weird questions about themselves on paper, then answer weird questions in person to an even weirder person in the hope that said weird person will assign them a proper soulmate that has answered the weird questions in a similar manner. Okay, so maybe it isn't so simple. But it is surprisingly fun.

I fill out an application and am quickly greeted by a man in a red Costco shirt. He informs me that "the company's" process is completely scientific and involves a satellite and a supercomputer. I can't imagine why he would lie about this.

He asks me about my passions, my thoughts on society, and what I am looking for in a soulmate. After my interview is over, I am given a Costco card with many letters and numbers on it and am told to redeem it for a soulmate within the next couple days.

The next day, during volunteer training, I discover what the letters and numbers mean. I would explain in further detail, but I signed a confidentiality statement, and I could never compete in court with the expensive lawyers of a big corporation like Costco.

I will discuss my volunteer experiences in tomorrow's blog, but for now I thought I'd highlight some of the differences between this Costco (CSTO) and the giant superstores found throughout the country:

+ CSTO, according to their website, "eliminates many of the costly overhead expenses faced by traditional stores. You know, like fancy display cases, sales people, advertising, research, morals, scruples and so on."

+ While most Costcos charge for their membership cards, CSTO offers their membership free of charge. Though CSTO officials are quick to point out that the membership card is not designed "to get you laid," it has historically produced significantly better results in this area than even the platinum membership card at traditional Costcos.

+ At CSTO, nothing can be purchased in bulk. I try to purchase a harem of soulmates, but they refuse, citing that, among other problems with my plan, I am an idiot.

+ This location is clothing optional. Other locations tend to frown on freeballing. Though one traditional Costco in Sioux Falls, North Dakota is surprisingly liberal about breast-feeding.

+ Unlike most Costcos, CSTO does not provide eye exams, twenty pound jars of mayonnaise, or the morning after pill.

There are better places to find an optometrist, and everybody knows the desert is not the optimal place for giant globs of mayo, but many a hungover hippie has been devastated by the absence of the third product on that list.

Especially when they find out the supercomputer and satellite don't really exist.