Lancelot Schaubert's Blog, page 84

Cadet Andrews

Andy Betz over at The Showbear Family Circus - Lancelot Schaubert's and Tara Schaubert's liberal arts circus. said ::

I heard my name called, and yet I didn’t answer.  For if I did, I would only hasten that which I did not want to proceed.  If I didn’t, damned if I do, damned if I don’t was the current colloquialism.

The courtroom was as antiquated as I believed it would be.  Old vids from long ago showed as much.  I always wondered just how old those vids were if a single image remained intact.  Our society did not value history.  Our society treasured progress.  I championed that notion and tirelessly sojourned toward that goal.  Since my schooling, all I ever wanted was to make a positive contribution toward society as a whole.  I saw myself as one man advancing toward PLEASANTNESS and lighting the way for others to follow.  Who wouldn’t want what I offered?  Who couldn’t say yes to such abundance I presented?  Who shouldn’t assist in every manner possible?  Every additional question I quietly asked began with who this and who that and remained unanswered as I moved closer to the stand.

My stand itself was of little consequence to the dramatic effect THE NINE presented.  Each seated themselves, evenly spaced among a semi-circular altar elevated with a prestige the accused would never get.  I stood with a single overhead torch light metaphorically imprisoning me in a cone.  If I were to have a jury, this image would sway them toward a guilty verdict.  However, I knew no jury would receive that opportunity.  Today was not to be about justice.  Today was to be about theatrically displaying power.  Impressive, and not yet over.  My guard struck the hilt of his sword against my stand to help focus my attention on my situation.  And focus I did.  In sequential order, from my left to right, I could view the partial faces of THE NINE when their lights projected only enough illumination for them to read from what I believe were view pads.  Not the chalked tablets of the CENTRAL DISTRICT AUTHORITIES, but view pads!  Once again, my mind went racing back to my classes for an explanation I knew would not come.  View pads.  To see one meant bragging rights.  To see nine fully functioning meant something else.

“Now class, could someone please explain the symbolism of Mr. Clark Humphry’s excursion toward his judgement?”  Professor Barclay knew no one cared about Clark Humphry and his story.  He built a machine and saved the world by curing hunger.  We celebrate his birthday every year and learn just a few additional scraps about the man who feeds all 600 million people each day.  Humphry was a father to us all.  Humphry fed those who could have died during the wars.  Humphry did this.  Humphry did that.  So what!  I heard this all before.  Each person here heard this story all before.  All 40 cadets needed this one hour lecture prior to venturing out into the world tomorrow to make our mark.  And make our mark we would!  Not like previous classes who promised much and delivered nothing.  No!  My class would make history and rise through the system for our achievements, not our failures.  I would lead them.  I would make General before the age of 30.

“Cadet Andrews!”  I stood at attention when even Professor Barclay called upon me.  “Cadet Andrews, if you could take some time from your busy schedule to correctly answer my question, I would be so obliged.”  Professor Barclay’s passive aggressiveness does not become a scholar of his stature, but he outranked me, so answer I did.  “Mr. Clark Humphry’s use of symbolism illustrates to the most uneducated the dire nature of his predicament.  He was to stand trial on an as-of-yet charge associated with an as-of-yet crime.”  I smile the smugness of the confident only a fraction of a second before incurring the wrath of Professor Barclay.

“Insolent fool, Cadet Andrews!”  He threw an antiquated book (obviously there for this sole purpose) from his desktop at me.  I stood at attention as it sailed wide right.  “Cadet Andrews, if I wanted a plebe’s reply, I would have found a plebe to reply.”  I remained at attention awaiting my turn to spar this nuisance to my career.  It never came.  However, the next word did.

“Attention!”  We all automatically arose when Professor Barclay gave orders.  “Cadet Andrews believes I am wasting her time.  Cadet Andrews believes I am the impediment to her career advancement.  I should even think Cadet Andrews believes I am boring her.”  Now I became worried.  Being singled out does not bode well before graduation, let alone for choice assignments.  Even though the Professor was my superior officer, I didn’t report to him.  I reported to the Commandant, and report to him I would.

“Well class, I shall illustrate to the most uneducated the dire nature of your predicament.  Cadet Andrews shall remain.  The rest of the Class of 114, you are dismissed.  Congratulations on your impending graduation.”

I found my blood boiling with a rage never before challenging my training.  I wanted to burn Professor Barclay.  I wanted him gone.  But, I remained at attention and mentally prepared myself for a fight in the time and place of my choosing.

“Sit down Cadet Andrews.  Remain silent.  As of today, you are a woman of limited choice.”  With that, Professor Barclay removed the vid disk the class had been viewing and replaced it with one he removed from a small biometric safe he removed from his desk.  The opening of the safe meant the hard locking of the classroom door.  “What you are about to see is for your eyes only.  By the order of the CENTRAL DISTRICT AUTHORITIES, you will never speak of it.  By viewing this vid, you may consider this your first assignment as an officer.”  With that simple monologue, Professor Barclay and I watched what really happened to Mr. Clark Humphry.

The beginning remained the same.  The faces of THE NINE retained their eerie glow, but now the guard did not remain for the proceedings.   He did not need to.  Mr. Humphry retained complete focus throughout. 

The first of THE NINE (the one on the left) spoke first to me.  He asked for the record; who I am, where I live, and what I do for a living.  He knew the answers to these three questions before he asked them.  I told him I was Clark Humphry.  I live in Boston.  I was an engineer.  I am now an inventor.  The second from the left asked what did I invent?  I played along.  “I am the inventor of the Molecular Entropy Device, aka the MED.”  The third from the left wanted to know the purpose of the MED.  “The purpose of the MED is to disassociate the triple bonds of one molecule of molecular nitrogen to two molecules of atomic nitrogen.  In doing so, any viable plant can fix the readily available nitrogen in a process of self- fertilization.  Unlike previous attempts, the MED is neither catalytic nor photon activated.  The power source is not as important as the process.  I use the term entropy as a catch all to deflect the exact explanation of the MED from the unwashed masses.  Needless to say, the MED will revolutionize the world as we know it.”  Now the fourth spoke clearly, “How so?”  I figured I would eventually hear from each and then be sentenced for whatever crime I committed.  As long as I didn’t reveal the details of the MED, I might have a few cards to play during the endgame discussions.

“By fixing atomic nitrogen to viable food plants, self-fertilization occurs.  By fixing a near infinite supply of nitrogen, you grow a near infinite supply of food plants.  This can feed a huge population of humans and farm animals.  Areas of the world barren to agriculture would instantly convert into farms.  The Great Saharan Desert could be the Great Saharan corn field.  The Gobi alone could feed the billions in close proximity.  Imagine the quality of life increasing because each of the 15 billion people on Earth has an abundance of food to eat.  Imagine how much capital might be freed for better uses if the few remaining fertile areas need not be guarded.  Imagine the aquatic agricultural boom if the few remaining fish species found ample food to eat.  To whatever the nine of you call yourselves, the MED can do nothing short of turning Earth away from today’s misery toward tomorrow’s future.  All I ask is the opportunity to use the MED to benefit all of mankind and not waste another moment in this kangaroo court awaiting extortion and imprisonment.

Professor Barclay hit pause for a brief discussion.  “Obviously, Cadet Andrews, this vid displays the time before the wars.  Analyze what you have seen.  Comment when you are ready.”

I found a new level of respect from the professor and wondered if it was meant to lure me into a sense of unearned trust.  Our training included mental preparedness against torture so I remained guarded in my answer.

“Mr. Humphry displays a level of conceit often associated with inventors and academics who feel themselves above the law.  My comment on the fairness of the law from that time has zero merit.  Only the fact he feels superior to it matters.”

After a brief eyebrow raise from the good professor for the inclusion of academics, he continued with the vid.

The fifth of THE NINE had a gravelly voice with a Baltic accent.  His words came slow with an undercurrent of something hidden.  I expected much and listened accordingly.

“Mr. Humphry, please detail what you will do should we choose to let you go free?  How will you finance the MED?  Who are you associates?  What other inventions will you move from the idea phase to the construction phase?  Be specific.  We are all very interested in what you have to say.”

They were never going to let me go.  I knew this.  THE NINE knew this.  It was an age old story of a few seizing power and wealth for themselves at the expense of entire populations.  So for whatever they may present themselves as, this group of nine was just a bunch of thieves.  Highly connected, very powerful, extremely rich, but common group of thieves.  So I told them so, via gesticulation.

I expected a retort, definitely physical, possibly mental, from either them or their lackeys.  I waited awkwardly for what I was sure to arrive, but never did.  What I did receive was a laugh.  First from the fifth, then from them all.  An extended coarse laugh meant to be a painful to hear when directed at no one as it was when directed at me.  For two minutes, each of THE NINE laughed at me.  When it began to slow, the sixth took his turn at speaking.

“Cadet Andrews”.  The professor’s voice simultaneously matched the pausing of the vid.  “I spoke earlier of you having limited choices.  Allow me to clarify that statement.  You actually have only one choice.  You may continue viewing this vid and accept the assignment associated with it or. . .”  I knew what the impending OR was.  I was to be privy to information few may even knew existed.  I was to be part of the inner circle.  Maybe even a ticket to THE NINE.  I would be a fool to reject Professor Barclay’s offer; even half an offer.  I went all in when I spoke the words, “I want this assignment.”

Professor Barclay smiled a crooked grin; the type of grin of someone who knows more than he lets on.  He spoke of casting the die or the die was cast or some sort of archaic nomenclature.  I must have been gloating when the vid began again.

The voice of the sixth began in sharp pitch dictation.  His was all facts and no emotion.  He spoke of Earth as it really was.  He told me of the problems.  There were too many people already.  There were too many in prison.  There were too many wars.  There were too few resources.  There were too many weapons.  There was too much suffering.  There was too little time.  Despite all anyone ever did, there were too many questions and not enough answers.  Nothing anyone could do helped to solve the fundamental problem facing Earth of too many people wanting to create too many more people.  The rest nodded in agreement.   The seventh rose and spoke in a completely different tone.  He spoke with desperation.  He spoke with trepidation.  He addressed me personally.

“Mr. Clark Humphry, we need your assistance.  We need the MED.  We need you to use the MED.  We just need you to use it in a different way.”  I informed the seventh that I would listen.

“Earth is dying.  Man is dying.  We, THE NINE, have been able to control the death but we cannot do anything to stop it.  We are not even in agreement if we should postpone the inevitable.  Earth will die if we do nothing.  Earth will die if we do something.  The result is preordained.  Even as I speak, word is spreading about the MED.  With it, 15 billion will become 20 billion.  They may have food.  But what if they all want land?  What if they all want a home, a doctor, an education, or a higher quality of life?  What if they want more children?  What if they want a future?  What if they want hope?”

I had to reply.  “I can give them that hope.  The MED can give them all they desire.  Why can you not see this?” 

I let this sink in before I drew breath to continue.  However, the eighth raised his hand and motioned for the seventh to sit.  His was a voice of reason, nothing more, and nothing less.  “Mr. Humphry. We have calculated the MED can do all you say it can do.  But for how long?  The 20 billion will soon become the 30 billion, then the 40 billion.  We, THE NINE, can no longer resist the pressure of the 15 billion.  Please do not add to the problem for we have a way for you to solve the problem.”

I heard all the first seven had to say.  For the first time I now was dying to hear what the last two were to say.  I was glad I had the time and the solitude away from others to do so.

The eighth began a proposal I knew no one could believe.  It was rash and brash.  It was unbelievable.  And it began as such.  “Mr. Clark Humphry, you are a man of limited choices.  In reality, you have but one.  Either you can do what must be done, or you can watch the last days of Earth.”

I told the eighth I was listening.

“Mr. Humphry, you must use the MED to reduce the human population to a more sustainable size.  The ninth among us has already reversed engineered your device and knows this to be possible.  What we want you to accomplish is to eliminate, to remove, to murder, to kill, or whatever your conscious requires you to name it, as many people as possible in the shortest period of time, without anyone knowing.  We want you to dissociate all the molecular bonds within a human so they return to their atomic components leaving no tangible evidence.”

Playing Devil’s Advocate, I plied THE NINE for more information.  “You want me to use the MED to turn people into piles of calcium and carbon off-gassing oxygen and hydrogen?”  The eighth said yes.  “You want me to reduce the world population under the guise of helping feed the world?”  Again the eighth said yes.  “Just how many people do you want me to kill?”  Without a change in tone, the eighth replied, “14.5 billion people before the end of the year.  When you succeed, and succeed you must, that day will be known as PLEASANTNESS and you will be known as the man who saved the human race.”

I was shocked.  Who wouldn’t be?  Was all this a joke?  Who could devise such a plan?  Forget all of the wars of history.  Success for me would make me the greatest villain in the galaxy. 

PLEASANTNESS my ass!  I told THE NINE as such.  They expected my reply.  The eighth rose first then the remaining eight together.  The eighth spoke for the rest.  “We, THE NINE, concluded you would not be a part of this plan.  We concluded you have the means but not the desire.  Regrettably, it has come to this.  PLEASANTNESS is already in full motion.  The few remaining resources are manufacturing the MED for installation worldwide.  Mr. Clark Humphry, you are not the desirable citizen capable of performing the one task you should perform.  As such, we sentence you to life.  Not life in prison.  We sentence you to a hero’s life.  We will never speak of this meeting.  You can do as you wish.  Wherever you go, the remaining population will greet you as the savior you should have been.  The remaining ones will sing your praises and name their children after you.  The suffering will be great, but, because of you, Mr. Clark Humphry, not all will suffer.  Humanity will have PLEASANTNESS.  Thank you for your cooperation.”

In the final diatribe, my guard returned and restrained me until THE NINE left.  Then the guard left.  True to their word, I was free to go.  I was free to go and watch the monumental accumulation of elements wherever I went.  I tried to explain.  I tried to stop it all.  No one listened.  It was as if everyone bet they would be one of the survivors.  And THE NINE were right.  The survivors revered me as a god.  I made the Sun shine.  I returned the quality of life everyone read about in history books.  And I met baby Clarks and baby Humphrys wherever I went.  The Earth had the population’s PLEASANTNESS.  I had the Earth’s guilt.

The final entry on the vid showed Mr. Clark Humphry committing suicide with a MED on his 42 birthday.

Professor Barclay did not have to pause the vid.  He did do what he was ordered to do.  In accepting my assignment, Colonel Barclay field promoted me to the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade and assigned me to visit the Hall of THE NINE.  The current world population was 600 million, 100 million more than was necessary.  Colonel Barclay handed me a vid on the schematics of the MED and ordered me to familiarize myself to its operation.  Much like Mr. Humphry, I had a difficult task ahead of me.

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Dreaming of the Dead

Cara Wood over at The Showbear Family Circus - Lancelot Schaubert's and Tara Schaubert's liberal arts circus. said ::

Oh, how I’d hoped you’d have wisdom to impart

when you strolled into that party

unannounced and unexpected, but

with all the swagger in the world.

Instead, you only complemented my ball gown

which was pink taffeta, for some reason.

Instead, you simply laughed at the off-color joke my landlord,

from that crumbling apartment three years ago, told.

Have you heard the one about the monkey and the oxygen tank, you asked.

What about the security guard and a dozen angry flamingos?

undeterred and unanswered, never

revealing the punchline to the crowd.

But you’re dead, I remember thinking

after the dream was over and I waited for the kettle to sing.

But you’re gone, I should have told you

what havoc your carelessness had brought into our lives.

What could you say to that?

A postmortem confrontation

undead and unrelenting, we

didn’t get the chance to be so serious.

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Impulse Engine Force Engineering Solutions

Tara Cronin over at The Showbear Family Circus - Lancelot Schaubert's and Tara Schaubert's liberal arts circus. said ::

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Impossible Peace

Anthony Salandy over at The Showbear Family Circus - Lancelot Schaubert's and Tara Schaubert's liberal arts circus. said ::

On far away stormy shores
Sit people consumed by the simplicity
Of their existence-

Where beyond the need to survive
And love one another-
There is little more than a core humanity,

For in these people’s lives
Is the cornerstone of the nirvana
So endlessly depicted to us-

Through the onslaught of media
And through word of mouth-
So lacking in sincerity

For tranquility is portrayed
As a subtle state of mind-
Empowered by the nature-

That was so carelessly destroyed
To make such a portrayal known
To the globalized masses of Earth,

But on the cobbled metropolitan streets
Of our greatest western civilization
Do individuals sit as perplexed

And as consumed by existential crisis
As any other man or woman
To roam the grasslands of the Savannah-

Or the shores of weathered atolls
Deep in the azul expanse of the Pacific,
For true peace is truly indistinguishable-

From that of a common existence-
Shared amongst the many differences
Which now engender a deep rooted sense-

Of social self-segregation
Which permeates all echelons
Of our ever stratified society-

Just as innately non-peaceful-
As this life ever was or could ever be,
For only in our fight for life

Can one find everlasting peace at its end.

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Legal Tender

Edward Supranowicz over at The Showbear Family Circus - Lancelot Schaubert's and Tara Schaubert's liberal arts circus. said ::

It now took a wheelbarrow or two of paper money to pay for a loaf of bread. Inflation?  Excessive printing of currency? Witchcraft? The economists were still adjusting their equations, so no one had an answer. But all the pundits and bigwigs knew changes had to be made.

Gold was no longer an option. Not only had it not been used as a standard for almost a century, but an internet mogul had bought up the entire world’s supply in order to make his castle a solid gold one.

Diamonds were useless also.  The market had been flooded with the surplus from South Africa, and the prices had plummeted so far that every male was forced to buy his significant other  rings for every finger. What diamonds remained were of such low quality and clarity that they were made into marbles for kids to play with.

Stones, which were nice and solid like a money supply should be, were tried for a while. But the larger denominations were quite heavy and gave owners (most of them rich) hernias and back problems.

Then, in an act of Jungian clarity and synchronicity, all the world leaders decided to use shit, i.e., feces, excrement, as a medium of exchange.  Everyone knew what it was, and everyone had some.  Wall Street and the other monetary exchanges set up a shit board, and leaders of the free and non-free worlds told people to get their “shit together”.

Leaders of the world sighed a collective sigh, for not only had the economic system been saved, but the social order upon which the system rested was also kept intact. It was obvious that the rich had better diets with more fiber, so they would continue to have more shit than the poor.

Some were concerned about possible health risks, but the CDC tested random samples and concluded that shit posed no more of a threat than old-fashioned paper currency, which often had traces of e-coli on it. And some were concerned about the odor, but Madison Avenue did a successful spin of “ If it doesn’t stink, then it’s not real shit”.

But human nature being human nature, there were some that tried to game the system by using animal shit rather than human shit. Pig and chicken shit were obvious counterfeits, but other varieties required the hard work and dedication of the Secret Service to wipe out the culprits.

There were a few rebels, mostly biker and construction workers, who said they wouldn’t take shit from anybody.They were quickly added to the official watchlist, about the same time the FBI began investigating the new federal crime of bartering.

All in all, it was a smooth transition. After all, the world is a civilized place. And, whereas it used to be an insult to say someone had “shit for brains”, now it was the highest compliment.

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Distinguished from the Dead

Tanner McClelland over at The Showbear Family Circus - Lancelot Schaubert's and Tara Schaubert's liberal arts circus. said ::

“He smiled at his old boyhood choice, slow oxidation in the top of a tree”

I’d like to believe the reason vultures
refrain from picking out my brain on
the way to work has something to do with
the movement of my heart; that somehow
they’re smart enough to know it still runs
or that they have x-Ray vision or something.
I’d like to think the same applies for wolves and bears,
that they share an understanding—though I’m dying,
something substantially sentient keeps me
distinguished from the dead. I’d like to believe it all
and that I’m not completely fearful admitting
I have no idea what it means to be alive
or why I’m any less appetizing than rotting meat
on the side of the road for something
working inside me…something magical,
unmarkable, without nature, I suppose.

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No Some Anybody

Tanner McClelland over at The Showbear Family Circus - Lancelot Schaubert's and Tara Schaubert's liberal arts circus. said ::

Nobody reads about some Anybody
because Nobodies write about
Somebodies that Anybodies couldn’t be.
Unless their intention is the opposite:
that Anybody can be the Somebodies
because they’re Nobody in particular,
either yet or forever.
Just like you.

I’m sorry,
there’s not Somebody writing the history books;
that’s the Nobodies. Somebodies are out
filling the history books
with alcohol tonight.
Anybody knows that.
Nobodies show that
by staying in and writing when
Anybody else would be with Anybody else
tonight. Right?

I don’t know.
I had more, but I spilt tea
over my daily journal.
Some of my Somebodies looked
more like Nobodies when it all
smudged away.
It’s hard to tell Anybody apart
at the end of the day.

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Wawa (wa)

Tanner McClelland over at The Showbear Family Circus - Lancelot Schaubert's and Tara Schaubert's liberal arts circus. said ::

My guess is that someone recognized
how I walked in wearing a red
plastic-lettered school t-shirt and left
from the single stalled family bathroom
in a gray button up and navy tie.

The “Oh my gosh, Shelby” shouted by a teenage girl
illuminated by juices and teas
in the farthest refrigerated aisle from the bathroom
was undoubtedly a sign of my change
and not a response to the latest drama
Shelby perhaps was telling a friend
on her skipped day of school, should you so think.

Neither did the male trainer scrutinizing
the calorie count on a pack of Combos
need to hide so hard his surprise
of my morph into interview clothes
by picking up both the pizza flavored
and regular cheese filled cylinders
before walking to the register,
I assume, for a friend at another gym
that I wouldn’t know, even if I asked.

My guess is that someone soon
will come up to me as I fill myself
a cup of the coffee scheduled to be switched
in the next 10 minutes and ask
out of wonder why I look so different now
or why I never changed my pants through all that I’ve done.

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Warm Winter

Melissa C. Johnson over at The Showbear Family Circus - Lancelot Schaubert's and Tara Schaubert's liberal arts circus. said ::

Golden light and shadow ushers in fall.

The world tilts, slows, swirls, flashes brightness like leaves

falling—sky grows bluer as geese flocks call

the news of their migration; water grieves

their absence, grows dark and opaque, no lure

for swimmers, no need for fence to fetter.

It is the time to put forth new warm fur,

build burrows, write that long delayed letter

before the snow covers our tracks, blankets

the earth in white, sets the weak sun to burn,

before the ponds and lakes wear bracelets

of ice, now while the leaves still clutch and turn.

When winter whistles, we’ll be smugly snug,

feet up, fat cat, sipping on a steaming mug.

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Brooklyn Candle Studio Breathes New Life into Candles

Diana Piper over at The Showbear Family Circus - Lancelot Schaubert's and Tara Schaubert's liberal arts circus. said ::

Rows of pure white candles, embossed with a clean glass sheen, line the sleek minimalist shelves of Brooklyn Candle Studio. The compact workshop does not use childishly gaudy coloring or flashy labels, instead offering simplistic designs to appeal to the younger generation.

There is a logistical aspect to this design too: eco-consciousness. The company has launched several initiatives to minimize the negative environmental impact typically associated with burning candles. Aligning with millenials’ ethics in more ways than one, the candles are cruelty-free and vegan, the buzzwords hurtling the Brooklyn Candle Studio into expansion and development. However, they retain the personal touch of a small business — something that the younger generations are willing to pay more for.

“I think we’re definitely a very millennial company,” Lillian Beitzel, Operations and Account Manager at the studio, said in an interview. “Everyone is very artistic (and) it leads to more of a casual, creative, collaborative environment.”

Age of Brooklyn Candle Studio employees ranges from mid twenties to mid thirties, significantly younger than the national average for U.S. workers, which is approximately 45. Beitzel herself is 28 years old, and is accommodating of the conflicting needs of the youth, like desiring luxury at a cheaper price, albeit being slightly older.

“There’s a lot of luxury candles out there that are very expensive. And I know that’s not feasible for a lot of people to buy,” Beitzel said. “We really want to make a product that looks luxurious and high-end but has a more (mid-range) price point so that it’s affordable to a larger range of people.”

At almost $40 for a 13 ounce candle, the store is still considered expensive, especially for a young demographic. (In comparison, a 22 ounce Yankee candle costs $30.) However, something integral in compelling the demographic increases its price: being eco-friendly. The company uses recyclable packaging and a minimal amount of plastic, opting for more expensive and environmentally unimpactful supplies. The studio ensures a clean burn by producing their candles with soy wax and lead-free cotton core wicks, further raising the price. Fortunately for the studio, this is exactly what consumers are more willing to invest in.

“With the rise of the Internet, people (have) realized what (is) happening to the environment (with) climate change,” Beitzel said. “I think that our consumers, specifically, are trying to do a small part (for) micro-sustainability, whatever they can do to help out in that regard.”

Since millenials are lining up to buy reusable metal straws to “save the turtles” and thrifting to combat the fast fashion industry, this is an incredibly smart business move. As past fashions of flashiness and indifference have died out, the hottest new trend for the ostensibly irresponsible new generation is, in fact, sustainability. Even small, seemingly inconsequential customs are being challenged, like using plastic straws and, fortunately for Brooklyn Candle Studio, burning traditional candles.

Yet that is not the only thing appealing about the workshop; its small scale also brings customers in. There are nine full-time employees at Brooklyn Candle Studio, and they physically make the candles instead of using machinery. One-on-one customer service is another touch, giving the candles extra sentiment for the consumer.

“I think (bigger brands) are to be able to produce a (much) larger volume, but maybe don’t have that hands-on quality,” Beitzel said, “It’s the same people in here everyday doing the same thing, really paying attention to their craft.”

Sentimentality has become extremely popular in recent times, in contrast to the epoch of the Industrial Revolution, when standard-issue products became status quo. During that time, the products lacked the small imperfections of homemade items and the customer’s vision of their item’s creator was either blurred or simply missing. With the flurry of industrial manufacturing, feelings of warmth and familiarity toward products were retracted.

Now, the young are searching for it again. The loss of accountability in the nation may have caused this. Media and politics have become more polarized, which has made many truths in national crises become hazy. It has been revealed that oil companies have attempted to cover up the facts of global warming, an increasingly rallying cause for millenials. Trust is rare, and research is commonplace. Millenials want to know about companies, about who is behind it, what their mission is. And it is much easier to trust a smaller company, with a few faces behind the work.

Brooklyn Candle Studio proves that it is a company to trust. One way they are doing so is by drawing scents from employees’ own experiences and informing the customer of it, instead of estimating what the targeted demographic will enjoy. Some of the “Escapist” candles (those with scents designated for a certain place) even include personal anecdotes on their website — “late nights lingering with friends in aged leather booths of bustling Brooklyn cocktail bars” inspiring the Brooklyn Escapist Candle.

“Every area (has) different plants and climates and weather … so that will start to lend different smells,” Beitzel said. “I think we’re, right now, still focused on what we are enjoying because that provides even more inspiration, instead of pigeonholing into something that someone else may like.”

Brooklyn Candle Studio’s divergence from traditional marketing tactics have served them well. In the past 18 months, the studio has received some of its largest orders from well-known retailers, such as J. Crew, which requested 4000 candles for sale.

“(It was) really exciting for the whole team, to be able to produce a … very large amount of candles and get into these name-brand stores,” Beitzel said. “To know that our products are going to be seen by a lot more people than have maybe seen them before, it was really exciting.”

As the studio becomes a more popular brand, there exists worry of losing the qualities of a small business, and there has been internal discussion to try to prevent this. They still only have one workshop and one person working in customer service, but company growth can become exponential. The employees hope to preserve the intimacy between the seller and consumer, even as they are receiving more customers.

“I hope, as we expand, that we are able to keep hands-on touches,” Beitzel said. “It’s important that we really remain a small business at heart, even if we expand and grow.”

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