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It is the most nightmarish of the Greek myths.
Theseus travels to Crete, where, for years, male and female youths have been sacrificed to a fearsome beast: the half-man, half-bull Minotaur. The Minotaur resides in a labyrinth ― a dark, dank, subterranean maze through which the creature stalks, kills and consumes his victims. Nobody who enters returns alive.
Until Theseus tools up. Masquerading as a sacrificial victim, he is escorted to the entrance and shoved inside. The gate slams shut behind him. He is alone, in the black labyrinth, with a monster.
But Theseus is prepared. Inside his tunic, he has secreted a sword and a ball of twine. He secures one end of the twine to a pillar next to the door, draws his blade, and descends into the darkness.
In the blackest depths of the labyrinth, Theseus encounters the Minotaur. An epic battle ensues. Depending upon the source, Theseus either slashes the monster's throat, or strangles it to death. Having offed the man-bull, he makes his way back up through the maze to the entrance by following his line of twine. He emerges into the light, a hero.
In 21st century Korea, is there any equivalent to the hideous death trap known as "the labyrinth"?
There is. It is called either "the shopping mall" or "the department store."
Vague, underworld fears strike one immediately upon entry. Firstly, one (usually) descends into the belly of the building, far underground. Having parked one's car, one must navigate from the basement to the department store/mall proper.
Woe betide if you forget where you parked! Some of these stygian underground spaces are so vast ― particularly that of mall "C" ― that you could spend days seeking your vehicle.
If one is fortunate, one discovers an elevator or escalator and ascends. But you will not emerge into sunlight.
Mall and department store designers have a vampiric aversion to natural light. There are few (if any) windows. The idea of a skylight, that would flood the interior with free illumination, is unknown. Instead, these hellish places are lit with insidious electric lighting.
Your quest begins. As a general rule, there is no store guide, no signage. Instead, you must navigate in confusion ― hither and yon on escalators, traversing floors, corridors and retail spaces ― in hopes of finding what you want by sheer luck.
God forbid that architects design these labyrinthine spaces so that all shops are in line of sight! God forbid that their layout follows any kind of logical order!
Mall "Y" is fiendish. This multilevel, multipurpose space includes multilevel carparks, a cineplex, department stores, duty free stores ― even a rail station. Good luck finding your way from any one of those spaces to any other! The complex is not laid out in (say) a rectangular design, or any other comprehensible geometry.
Likewise, department store "L" is a bewildering maze of deluxe hotel, luxury retail space, discount retail space, cineplex, food court and duty free store. Again: Good luck navigating from one of these modules to any of the others! At "L" your best bet is to make your way to the ground floor, exit the building and navigate your way back in from there.
If you somehow discover what you are looking for and make a purchase, you then have to descend into the guts of the building to retrieve your vehicle.
Good luck with that. Yes, there often are elevators into the depths. However, these are always full. Thus, you are forced to rely upon escalators or stairs.
Just as mall and store designers are not required to signpost the different sections of their complexes, they are apparently not required to signpost the way to parking lots either ― forcing the increasingly desperate shopper to traverse endless retail spaces and dead ends.
Which returns us to Theseus. I suggest that those bold enough to visit malls or department stores trail behind them a ball of twine. Only this ancient stratagem can guarantee a return to your vehicle.
It has been alleged that the confounding layout of these spaces is intentional: They are designed to keep shoppers enclosed as long as possible, provoking further purchases. Perhaps. But I hardly think that builds consumer loyalty.
The good news is that these spaces are not (as far as I know) inhabited by man-eating creatures of the dark ― though they can leave your credit card mangled and bloodied.
So with Halloween just around the corner, I end with a suggestion. If any auteur seeks a unique setting for a horror movie, permit me to suggest either a shopping mall or a department store. Even absent of minotaurs, vampires or zombies these maddening retail labyrinths summon up our most atavistic fears.
Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based reporter and author. Reach him at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.
