Stimpunks.World · Excursions · Infodumplings, Thursday 5 November 2026
Retail Therapy
A shop that sells nothing, open late for one sensory-friendly night: Infodumplings, on Thursday 5 November 2026. Bring your carts, your wishlists, your cope and carry, and the one thing you’d buy right now if nobody, including you, could make you feel bad about it.
This shop is virtual, and virtual is real. For some of us it is the world we get to be out in, and everybody in here is really here. Everything on the shelves is hypothetical: nothing in here costs actual money, and nothing costs actual spoons. (The one exception is the Stimpunks shop by the front door, which is clearly signed and easy to walk past.) Every shelf holds a question instead of a product, and every one of them is optional and just for fun: take as many or as few as you like, or none.
There are two ways through. With the lights low, every question is laid out in one list, in the order we’ll go through them together. With the lights off, the shop has closed for the night and you hunt for them: go from department to department and look in places, and the question hidden there turns up where you looked. Nothing makes a sound, nothing jumps out, and the shop counts nothing you find.
HOW LOUD DO YOU WANT IT?
Starts wherever your device says. Nothing moves, flashes, or plays until you say so.
Come as you are
No dress code, no membership card and no fee at the door. Pajamas, hoodies, blankets, costumes, camera off, lying down: all of it is shopping attire here. There are no expectations of you and no judgements about you.
Mosey along the aisles at your own pace, or stay exactly where you’re comfortable, on the couch, in bed, curled up in a chair, and shop virtually with us. Wherever you are is a good place to shop from.
Sensory-friendly hours, all night
This shop only keeps quiet hours. It is the store after the crowds have gone home and somebody has turned everything down.
- The lights are dimmed. No buzzing fluorescents and no flicker, and nothing on this page flashes, moves or plays by itself.
- The music is off. No overhead announcements, no beeping scanners, no clean-up on aisle five. Anything with sound gets announced first, played low, and captioned.
- No crowds. The aisles are wide and nearly empty. One person talks at a time, nobody is behind you in line, and nobody is in a hurry.
- No salespeople. Nobody will ask if you need help finding anything, and nobody will try to sell you something.
- Every way in, by sight, touch or sound. Every tag and card is in large print and braille, and this page works with a screen reader and with zoom. When you show something, say out loud what it is, so nobody has to see it to get it. Captions stay on, the chat counts as talking, and one voice at a time means captions, lipreading and interpreters can all keep up.
- Every shelf is in reach. Everything sits between 15 and 48 inches off the floor, the reach range in the ADA Standards, so it can be reached from a seat as easily as standing. Nothing is up on a top shelf or down on the floor, the aisles are wide enough to turn a wheelchair round in, every label is in large print and braille, and grabbers hang at the end of every aisle. A hand is always offered, never assumed.
- Chairs everywhere, and a quiet room. Camera off, mic off, and typing in the chat instead of talking all count. Step away to the quiet room, wherever yours is, or over to the café next door, and come back whenever you like.
Hosting it this way: start everyone muted, turn captions on, keep background music off, take turns from raised hands or the chat in order, read typed answers out loud, describe anything held up to the camera, and say before you share a screen with sound or motion in it.
You don’t have to shop
There’s a bench by the fountain in the middle of the shop, and it is the best seat in the house. Listening along and people-watching are punk. Come with your camera off, sit on the bench, and watch everybody else’s carts go by.
If shopping talk pulls on a buying compulsion, or it just isn’t your vibe tonight, sit it out without saying why. You can mute, step out, or leave whenever you like, and nobody will ask. If something you see sends you to a checkout that takes money, close the tab: the bench is still here, and nothing in this shop needs you to buy it. The Stimpunks shop by the front door is the only till in the center, and walking past it is a whole way through.
Checkout works like a lending library
Picking something up, turning it over, squishing it and stimming with it is shopping too. You’re shopping for your needs, your wants, your desires, your sensory preferences and your interests, and finding out what feels right in your hands is the whole point.
So nothing in here is sealed, and nothing has a price tag. Take what you need. Keep it as long as you need it, bring it back when you’re done, or don’t. There are no late fees, no limits and no questions at the register.
And there’s a gently used corner, full of thrifted and upcycled things, for anybody who loves a secondhand find.
Ride along in Caroline’s Cart, or drive yourself
Nobody gets left behind. Anyone and everyone is included, always, as much as they want to be: all the way in, along for the ride, or anywhere in between, and you can change your mind as often as you like.
In brick-and-mortar shops, a Caroline’s Cart is a shopping cart with a big, harnessed seat made for riders from children to grown adults, so disabled people, older people and anybody with limited mobility get to come shopping with the people who help them, instead of being left at home. The rider sits facing whoever is pushing, so the two of them can see each other the whole way round the shop. Drew Ann Long designed it for her daughter, Caroline. This shop never runs out. There’s a Caroline’s Cart for everybody who wants one, at the front door and in every department, for as long as you like, and nobody needs a reason.
- Ride along with a helper. If you need somebody with you to take part, bring them, or ask and we’ll find you one. Your helper pushes the cart: they can share a screen for you, hold your things up to the camera, read out what you type, point to or sign, or say the answers you give them. You steer; they push.
- Ride along on low spoons. Climb into somebody else’s cart and let them do the walking. Follow one person through every question, react with an emoji or a thumbs up if you have one to spare, and answer nothing yourself. Riding is a whole way through the shop.
- Unlimited carts, no questions. There’s no limit on carts, riders or time. Type “cart” in the chat whenever you want one, at the start, halfway through or for the last question, and as often as you like; you never have to say why. Name whose cart you’d like to ride in, or let the host find you a pusher, and hop in and out as many times as you need.
- Or drive yourself. Right beside the Caroline’s Carts is a row of electric carts, as many as anybody wants: a comfy seat, a basket on the front, and a simple joystick or handlebar, for getting round the whole shop on your own, at your own pace. They’re always charged, and there’s no sign-up, no reason needed, no limit and no time limit. Bring your own wheelchair, scooter, rollator or cane if you’d rather; every aisle fits it.
If you’re pushing: go at your rider’s pace, check in quietly, never answer for them unless they asked you to, and let them out the moment they want.
Need a break? The café’s next door
Whenever you need a breather, step out of the shop and across the street to the Samefood Cafe on Stimpunks.World. Bring a drink or a snack of your own, or just a culinary interest to talk about: the same drink as always, the snack you always have, the food you could infodump about for an hour.
The café keeps its own house rules, and they hold while you’re there: today’s special is your favourite, nothing on your plate touches unless you want it to, nobody comments on what you’re eating or how much, and a table for one is a whole table. Come back to the shop whenever you like, or don’t; your cart is right where you left it.
And if you’d like, carry your lunch scraps out to the compost at Wide-Spread Chaos Gardens, east of the stile in Nature’s Contribution: seed thrown on a windy day and left to come up how it likes, with no paths to keep to and a bench in the middle for anybody who wants to sit a while. Composting is entirely optional, like everything else.
Sampling counts as retail therapy, too. Down the street, Hey, Good Cookin’ is a community kitchen where nobody is turned away and every dish says exactly what’s in it. Wander over and shop for samples there, or at the sample table in here: a tiny, brief, entirely non-committal taste of something that might become a safe food one day, and maybe a samefood after that, or might not. A napkin is always beside it, looking without tasting counts, and nobody will ever ask you to try a bite.
The front door is always open. Step outside for fresh air whenever you like, for a minute or for the rest of the night. You can be done shopping at any time and head back out into nature, through the stile into Nature’s Contribution or out your own door, with no goodbye needed.
What to bring
- A tab with a cart open. Any shop, any cart, however old.
- Your wishlist, or the screenshot folder that is secretly your wishlist.
- Your cope and carry: the bag, the pockets, the kit you don’t leave home without.
- A link or a picture of the one thing you’d buy right now, guilt-free.
- Your headphones, sunglasses, blanket, or whatever makes a room easier.
- A helper, if you’d like somebody to push your cart.
- Nothing at all, if you’d rather sit on the bench. Window shopping and people-watching are whole ways to come.
The lights
Store directory
Press a department to walk straight there. The lights go down for the hunt, and you can bring them back up, low, from any department.
Lights off: look or feel for what’s on the shelves
The shutters are down, the music has stopped, and the only light is the soft glow of the exit sign. Each department is below, and every place to look is a button that says where it looks. Everything can be seen or felt, every shelf is within reach of a seat, and every tag, slip and card in the shop is in large print and braille. Press one and the question hidden there turns up right under it; press it again to put it back. Every department ends with the way out, and a Caroline’s Cart is waiting in every one of them. The front door is always open, too, if you’d rather step outside.
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The cart corral
Just inside the door: a row of Caroline’s Carts that never gets shorter, each with a big padded seat and a sign that says nobody gets left behind. Beside them, a row of electric carts, always charged, for anybody who’d rather drive themselves.
The way out: bring the lights back up, low. Running low? There’s a Caroline’s Cart waiting right here.
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The bench by the fountain
The middle of the shop, where the fountain still runs. The bench faces every aisle, and anyone can sit here all night.
The way out: bring the lights back up, low. Running low? There’s a Caroline’s Cart waiting right here.
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The front window
A mannequin in the dark, still dressed for a season nobody chose, holding something.
The way out: bring the lights back up, low. Running low? There’s a Caroline’s Cart waiting right here.
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The registers
Four lanes, all closed. Somebody left a cart in lane three, and the little rack of gum and lip balm is still full.
The way out: bring the lights back up, low. Running low? There’s a Caroline’s Cart waiting right here.
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The fitting rooms
A row of curtains, a bench to sit on in every stall, and a hook outside the last one with something hanging on it that didn’t make the cut.
The way out: bring the lights back up, low. Running low? There’s a Caroline’s Cart waiting right here.
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The access aisle
The widest aisle in the shop, with chairs at the end of it and the lights already turned down low.
The way out: bring the lights back up, low. Running low? There’s a Caroline’s Cart waiting right here.
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The toy aisle
Squishy things, spinny things, things that click, all out of their boxes for trying, and a big bin at the end of the aisle.
The way out: bring the lights back up, low. Running low? There’s a Caroline’s Cart waiting right here.
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Customer service
A counter with a bell nobody will answer tonight, the layaway shelf behind it, the returns desk beside it, and a box marked lost and found.
The way out: bring the lights back up, low. Running low? There’s a Caroline’s Cart waiting right here.
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The gently used corner
Racks of thrifted clothes, a table of upcycled things, a free pile, and the thrill of not knowing what’s at the back of the rack.
The way out: bring the lights back up, low. Running low? There’s a Caroline’s Cart waiting right here.
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The little free library
A little wooden house on a post just inside the door, with a glass front, a latch at the height of a seat, and books inside for the taking.
The way out: bring the lights back up, low. Running low? There’s a Caroline’s Cart waiting right here.
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The gift wrap counter
Rolls of paper, a dispenser of curly ribbon, and a tag already written out.
The way out: bring the lights back up, low. Running low? There’s a Caroline’s Cart waiting right here.
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The sample table
A little table with a tray of toothpicks, a stack of napkins, and a card in front of every sample saying exactly what’s in it.
The way out: bring the lights back up, low. Running low? There’s a Caroline’s Cart waiting right here.
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The stockroom
Through the door marked staff only, where the exit sign is brightest: boxes, a break table, and a card pinned to the door.
The way out: bring the lights back up, low. Running low? There’s a Caroline’s Cart waiting right here.
Lights low: every question in the shop
Every question on the shelves, in the order we went round on the night, with where it hides when the lights are off. Every question is optional and just for fun. There’s no pressure to answer any of them, some of them or all of them; “pass” is always a whole answer, and so is saying nothing at all.
What’s in your cart right now?
Any shop, any site, any tab you left open three weeks ago. Read it out, show it, or just tell us the most surprising thing in it. Carts you will never check out count too.
Where it hides: the registers, in the cart left in lane three
What’s on your wishlist?
The long list, the someday list, the list that is mostly books. Access gear and the boring-but-life-changing stuff belong on it too. Pick a few, or the one that has been on there longest.
Where it hides: customer service, on the layaway shelf
If you could buy one thing right now, guilt-free, what would it be?
No price limit, no “should”, and no explaining why you need it. It can be a treat or a mobility aid, a jacket or a better chair. Just the thing, and what it would feel like to have it.
Where it hides: the front window, in the mannequin’s hands
What did you put back?
Something you held, tried on or added to a cart and then didn’t buy. Do you still think about it?
Where it hides: the fitting rooms, on the hook outside the last stall
What’s the best small thing you’ve bought?
A cheap little thing that made a day better: a pen, a sticker, a snack you would defend to anyone.
Where it hides: the registers, on the little rack
What’s in your cope and carry?
The bag, the pockets, the kit you don’t leave home without: earplugs, sunglasses, snacks, a charger, a fidget, a card that says what you need when words won’t come. Show the weird thing nobody else understands that has saved you more times than you can count. Anything private can stay in the bag.
Where it hides: the access aisle, in the bag hanging on the chair
What has earned its keep?
The headphones, the cane, the shower chair, the weighted thing, the AAC app, the soft shirt, the tool your body is glad you bought. Show it off; this is the crowd that gets it.
Where it hides: the toy aisle, at the bottom of the fidget bin
What did you pick up and not want to put down?
A texture, a click, a weight, a squish, a fabric you could rub forever. Trying it out and stimming with it is shopping, and so is finding out it isn’t for you. Show us, or tell us how it feels.
Where it hides: the toy aisle, on the try-me shelf
What access thing would you get if cost and gatekeeping vanished?
No insurance forms, no prescriptions, no proving you need it, no disability tax. The wheelchair that actually fits, the good captions, the second pair of the glasses, the quiet room of your own. What would make the days easier?
Where it hides: the access aisle, on the list taped to the shelf
What went back, or should have?
The purchase that didn’t work out. Funny stories welcome; a wrong guess is just a wrong guess.
Where it hides: customer service, on the returns desk
What would you bring back from the discontinued shelf?
The snack they stopped making, the shoes that don’t exist any more, the exact notebook, the safe food that changed its recipe. Mourn it with us.
Where it hides: customer service, in the lost and found box
What’s your best secondhand find?
The thrift store jacket, the free-pile lamp, the hand-me-down that fits like it was made for you. Tell us where you found it and how it felt to spot it.
Where it hides: the gently used corner, at the back of the jacket rack
What have you turned into something else?
The jar that became a lamp, the shirt that became a bag, the thing you mended, patched or painted until it was yours. Works in progress welcome.
Where it hides: the gently used corner, in the box marked “make something of me”
What would you take from the little free library, or leave in it?
The comfort reread, the one that made you feel seen, the one you’d press into somebody’s hands. Audiobooks, comics, zines, braille and fanfic all count as books here. Browse the shelf for more ways in.
Where it hides: the little free library, behind the little glass door
What would you put in somebody else’s cart tonight?
Pick someone here, or someone you love, and tell us the thing you’d get them and why it’s theirs.
Where it hides: the gift wrap counter, on the tag under the paper
What do you rebuy forever?
The shampoo, the socks, the exact pen, the same food. What do you keep running out of and buying again, the same one every time?
Where it hides: the stockroom, in the case on the bottom shelf
What would you try as a sample?
Just a tiny taste, with no commitment at all: something that might become a safe food one day, and a samefood after that, or might not. Every card says what’s in it, there’s a napkin right there, and just looking counts. Nobody will ever ask you to try a bite, here or at Hey, Good Cookin’.
Where it hides: the sample table, on the card beside the toothpicks
What’s your staff pick?
If you worked here, what would your little handwritten card on the shelf tell everybody to try?
Where it hides: the stockroom, on the card pinned to the door
From the bench or the cart: what was the best thing somebody else brought?
For everybody who came to listen, people-watch or ride along, and everybody who didn’t. Which cart, wish or carry made you grin? You can answer this without having shown a thing.
Where it hides: the bench by the fountain, where you sit down
The little free library
For the book lovers: a little wooden house on a post just inside the door. Take a book, leave a book, or just browse. Nobody checks what you took, there’s no card and no due date, and every shelf in it sits at the height of a seat. Pull a book off the stack to see what’s inside.
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Which book do you go back to the way you go back to a samefood?
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Which book made you feel understood, maybe for the first time?
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Have you ever picked a book up just for the cover? Was it worth it?
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What’s next on yours, and how tall is it getting?
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What book would you leave in here for somebody else to find?
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A book you put down halfway. That’s allowed, and it still counts.
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Audiobook, comic, zine, braille, fanfic, the back of the cereal box: which way do you love to read?
Window-shop next door at Covenstead
A few doors down the street is Covenstead, a shopfront on Stimpunks.World where the kettle is already on. Nothing in it is for sale. It’s a kitchen in the afternoon, with the good china out and not one of the cups matching, where a group meets on purpose to check its own thinking out loud.
Browse the dresser of mismatched cups and the ideas laid out on the table, like counsel that stays counsel, and Terry Pratchett’s First Sight and Second Thoughts. Take whatever is useful and leave the rest. Nobody is initiated, nothing is counted, and nobody asks you to believe anything.
Its door policy is a lot like ours: merry meet, and merry part, and merry meet again. Leaving is built into arriving, and so is coming back.
Takes actual money
The Stimpunks shop
Right by the front door, under its own sign, is the one store in the center with a till that takes actual money: the Stimpunks Foundation store, printed by Raygun Custom. Inside are Stimpunks shirts for grown-ups and kids, a tote bag, stickers, and the Map of Monotropic Experiences as a poster and a sticker, for anybody who wants to wear, carry or stick up some Stimpunks swag.
Buying anything here is entirely optional, and so is looking. Nobody will ask whether you bought something, and nobody keeps track. If spending actual money is something you’re stepping back from, or your budget or your spoons say not tonight, walk right on past; everything else in the center stays free.
More to do while the shop’s open
For a break between rounds, or if the group wants to keep going. All of them are hypothetical, all of them are quiet, and all of them work from the bench.
- The no-spoon sweep. One minute on a timer. Fill a cart from anywhere in the world, with no budget, no shipping, and no energy spent carrying it home. Then everybody reads theirs out.
- Shop for a character. Pick somebody from a book, a show or a game, and fill their cart. Everybody guesses who it’s for.
- Dress the window. Pick three things within reach of where you’re sitting and arrange them as a shop window. Hold it up to the camera and give your shop a name.
- Price check, no prices. Show the oldest thing you own that you still use every day, and tell us where it came from.
- Mall walk. Put on Dan Bell’s Inside America’s dead shopping malls (a TED talk, about 12 minutes) and people-watch some empty malls together. His Dead Mall Series on YouTube goes on for hours, if the group gets into it. It has music and moving video in it, so say before you press play, keep the sound low or off, and turn the captions on; anybody can look away and just listen, or not.
The shop’s rules
- Nobody gets left behind. Anyone and everyone is included, always, as much as they want to be. That is what Caroline’s Cart is for.
- Virtual is real. This shop is a real place, and everybody in it is really here, whatever world you’re shopping from.
- Come as you are. No dress code, no membership fees, no expectations and no judgements. Mosey along or stay in a comfortable position and shop virtually from wherever you are.
- Every question is optional. They’re all just for fun. Answer any, some, all or none of them, pass whenever you like, and nobody keeps track.
- Breaks whenever, and out whenever. Step out to the quiet room, over to the Samefood Cafe, or outside for fresh air any time, for as long and as often as you need. You can be done shopping and back in nature at any moment, no goodbye needed.
- Quiet by default. Lights low, music off, one voice at a time, and no crowds.
- Everything is hypothetical. Nothing in this shop costs actual money or actual spoons.
- Nobody has to buy anything, or shop at all. Listening along and people-watching are punk, and the bench is open all night.
- Touching and stimming are shopping. Pick it up, try it, stim with it. Checkout is a lending library: take what you need, with no limits and no late fees.
- Riding along counts, and the carts never run out. There’s a Caroline’s Cart for anybody who needs help to take part, or who wants to ride in somebody else’s cart on low spoons: no limit, no reason needed, any time, as long as you like.
- Getting around on your own counts too. Unlimited electric carts, always charged, for shopping independently at your own pace, and every aisle fits your own chair, scooter, rollator or cane.
- Prices are yours. Say one only if you want to. Nobody adds anything up, and nobody asks what you spent.
- Show only what you want to show. Meds, medical gear and anything private can stay in the bag. Saying “there’s a thing in here I’m not showing” is a whole answer.
- Nobody’s taste is the joke, and nobody’s needs are either. Wanting things is allowed, and so is not being able to get them right now. Access gear is never a punchline.
- Nothing is for sale, with one signed exception. The Stimpunks shop by the front door is the only till in the center, and buying there is entirely optional. Everywhere else, share the link to the thing, not a referral code, a pitch or a shop of your own.
- A way out of every department. Every department in the hunt ends with the lights back up, low. Leaving early is a real way through.
- Nothing kept. This page remembers nothing about you. Leave, and the next visit starts with every shelf stocked again.
Job marker — a blank price tag come off a shelf
You have found a job marker. The Adventurer’s Guild is a shopfront on the street, and it posts jobs that send you round these rooms. Take the code below to its board and that job is done. Nothing here is scored, nothing expires, and one is a perfectly good number of jobs to do.
The job: How does checkout work?
Before the code: In Retail Therapy, checkout works like what?
Hint 1
It is in a heading near the top of the shop.
Hint 2
Somewhere you borrow books.
Last hint
A lending l...
Give me the answer
The answer is A lending library. Nothing in the shop is sealed or priced: take what you need, bring it back when you are done or don't, with no late fees and no questions at the register.
Taking the answer is a real way through this, not a lesser one. Nothing is watching and nothing is written down.
Quest code: LAYAWAY
That is the one.
Nothing in the shop is sealed or priced: take what you need, bring it back when you are done or don't, with no late fees and no questions at the register.
Quest code: LAYAWAY