Back to Index

 

 

THE STROLLER-THRU

87 5th Ave
APRIL 23, 2013

 

KEYWORDS: IT'S THE STROLLLLLL TRAIN

 

Park Slope is home to 700,000 strollers and almost as many babies, and so it only makes sense that it is now home to The Stroller-Thru—possibly the only store that you can easily bring a stroller into without making a 198-point turn.

The Stroller-Thru is a former social club, the kind that usually holds a bunch of old gentlemen who sit around while an old fashioned TV plays in the background. The space is not vast but it’s just enough to contain a slow-moving people-mover while attendants with black plastic glasses wait on you while selections from Feist, The Postal Service, and Eleanor Friedberger play. It’s kind of nice, and it also just makes me want to scream. Not an angry scream, just a general clear-the-air kind of scream.

“Juice? Cookies? Nut allergy? Dairy OK? What about wheat?”

Where were you people when I was six, and I was trying to sort out why grape Bubble Yum tasted kind like air freshener, or why anyone would eat more than half a Tootsie roll? Where were you when I desperately needed to kick sugary cereal? When I needed to understand that Captain Crunch’s distinguished military record in no way justified his sugary crimes against the youth of America?

I have no children, and so ordinarily this would mean going to The Stroller-Thru with an empty stroller, which seems ominous. I contemplated bringing my cat, Ms. Esther, disguised as a baby, but her only understanding of the outdoors is based upon when it's time to go to the vet. Instead, I brought a friend and her baby, who is a documented human child.

Child-friendly snacks are like a new language to me, but luckily my friend was there to translate. “Those are KimberLisa’s Wheatless Choco Cookies, they’re really good. Those are Herman and Jack’s Piratical Veggie Bucanoodle Packets, they look like packing peanuts but they’re saltier. Ooh! Satchel's Banana Juice. I know a few two-year-olds who can really put that away. Lena’s Lenticular Lentils—they’re baked salted lentils, but not too salty, and there are vocabulary words on the back of the box. And hey! Fresh ants on a log. I know someone who likes those!”

She was referring to me. I like ants on a log, but I have to say, these ones are just OK— I prefer a crunchier peanut butter.

Once you reach the end of the people-mover, you exit down a ramp, and the outside garden has some very safe-looking slides, a swingset, and some kind of steering wheel that is only suitable for a very thorough understanding of powerlessness. Kids seem to like it.

I can’t really find any fault with The Stroller-Thru. The certified Human Child seemed to enjoy the wheatless choco cookies from KimberLisa and the banana juice thing just fine. But standing on a slowly moving treadmill while people bring your offspring food is a strange privilege that I'm not sure I can get used to. Maybe if everyone else had a treadmill too?

 

 

Back: Sab Back: Index Next: A. Pontious Eats His Paris Vacation