Exclusivity in Junkspace

Junkspaces are fun. There's something nice about walking into these practical utopias—everything makes sense. They have this way of casting a vision towards a future we might like, but there's a catch. Only certain people are welcome. In a commercial junkspace, only potential buyers are welcome. The "mallrat", only there to take in the sights, is, as the name implies, a pest feeding on an otherwise efficient mechanism. The mere observer is to either become a part of the system or be rejected by it. In a similar way, office junkspaces reject those with no business in the place. The most obvious exclusivities occur in theme parks or airports, where literally only ticket-holders may enjoy access.

This systemic isolation should bother us.

What if I were to say that I was taking you to a place so separated that for as long as you spent within you might have no idea of any changes outside, and that inside you would have several devices designed to change your opinions about what things you want or need? Any time a building's description could also describe a torture chamber, I think we need to reevaluate the design.