I am once again traversing the 3D labyrinth that is central Helsinki trying to tackle the never-ending to-do list. A welcome respite from being lost is always Kamppi, with its simple, cross-type layout. As I walk past a harmless looking shop called ‘Normal’, I see an umbrella through the window, which is an essential tool in Finland I had neglected to pack in my suitcase, and on the top of my to-do list. Suspecting nothing, like an insect on a Venus fly trap, I step in and am suddenly caught in the teeth of the monster that is Normal. I am about to get taught the difference between a labyrinth and a maze.

As soon as the one-way gate at the entrance closes behind me, I realize my mistake. What lies before me is like nothing I had ever seen. I can only suspect that some Normal-CEO was walking through IKEA and thought: “This layout would be perfect for my drug store!” My eyes follow the single, narrow, path snaking through the entire store, which I am going to have to navigate to reach the umbrella located near the end of the path at the cash register. I sigh and start walking.

During my journey through Normal, I contemplate the design choices. Like IKEA, the customer is cleverly forced to follow the single path and thus look at every single item on sale. Unlike IKEA, however, there are no shortcuts, and the path is too narrow to pass people in front of you. It feels more like cattle being ushered through a factory farm than a relaxing walk through dozens of living rooms. Indeed, most of the time the customer is stuck at random spots while people ahead peruse perfumes or protein powder. As I stand waiting behind a group of women rifling through a box of hairbrushes, I look around me and realize that the designers had solved this problem by having no categorization system whatsoever. Wherever you are stuck, you are surrounded by a completely random assortment of items, one of which might hopefully be relevant to you.

Feeling quite bored at this point, I decide that the best course of action is to bury myself in my phone. I idly check if other people visiting Finland are as fascinated of Finnish shopping centers as I am. Seeing Helsinki being described as a labyrinth, I remember a curious, somewhat nit-picking fact I had learned a while ago: Technically, a labyrinth is a maze with only one path, meaning that you cannot get lost. I had incorrectly called the Helsinki city center a labyrinth; it is actually a maze. This shop, however, is the definition of a labyrinth.

Five minutes down the path I turn a corner to see that the shop extends a good way to a section previously obscured behind a wall. There now is no direct line of sight to the entrance. With people both close behind and immediately in front, I start getting somewhat claustrophobic. How much path is there ahead of me? Will there be another section of shop revealed behind the next corner? Will there always be another section? Maybe it is worth turning around now and jumping the gate at the entrance? Is there a fire exit? What if a fire breaks out on the path ahead of me? Will people inadvertently push me forward into the fire? What if there is a fire both in front and behind? Which shelf looks the most climbable?

Trying to distract myself, I start looking very intently at the electric toothbrushes to my right. I almost take one off the shelf but realize at the last moment that that would be a grave mistake. As soon as I would take it and move a few more steps with toothbrush in hand, the one-way system would make it impossible to return the item. This would lead to me either purchasing a toothbrush I really don’t need or starting an awkward conversation with the person at the register.

Now feeling a weird mixture of panicky, bored, annoyed, and manipulated, I take a closer look at the customers around me. Concerningly, they look like normal people, some my age, some my gender. They don’t look like psychopaths at all! What would make a person even enter this shop a second time after the unavoidable trauma the first visit undoubtedly caused? As I exit Normal ten minutes later and a wave of relief washes over me, I conclude that it must be the same reason that makes people watch horror movies or visit haunted houses. The incredible thrill of surviving such an emotionally extreme experience could be addictive, similar to a runner’s high. I take a last look back at this weirdest of all shops and my eye falls on the umbrella I had of course forgotten to purchase. Sighing, I turn around and step back into the labyrinth.