Thanksgiving Day Weekend At The Mall - Part 2

Previously on "Cautionary Tales":

"We give thanks on this Thanksgiving for all we have..."

"Wanna go to the mall?"

"It should be fine. Maybe a little crowded..."

"Look out, the minivan doesn't see us!"

"He's pointing to the ramp!"

"Up yours!"

"Now, Camden, don't walk in front of people..."

The Mall. A vast cavern of consumption and a portrait of civilization gone wrong. Young, old, stupid and slow mill through this mall. My friend and I separate as we each have our mission, His is to buy pans on sale and mine is a more dangerous cause for I am embarking on my quest to Verizon Wireless. There will be pain, there will be anger, there will be a reckoning because, well, you see, my phone is doing this blinky thing and it really annoys me.

I make my way to the directory to investigate the mall layout. As I approach there are these people staring blankly at the map muttering amongst themselves. They speak something not English and I dutifully wait for them to shuffle aside after grokking the magic concept of "You Are Here" and while I wait, I realize that, no, they are going to pitch camp at the directory and live out their days pointing at the pretty colored squares, speaking some eastern Eurpoean tongue and no doubt cursing the American interloper who just wants a non-blinky phone.

So I decide to wing it. Off I went. So having some sense that Verizon was close, I ambled along looking at the stores as I passed. Clothing, clothing, music, clothing, clothing, coffee, Victoria's Secret (oooooh shiny), toys, clothing, clothing. Hmmn. I sense a theme - clothing. I do pass a computer game shop, but one look inside and I see a sea of Melvins and I can't bring myself to stand hip-deep in overweight boy-men wearing "Hulk for president" t-shirts discussing which game console is better and could Wolverine kill Luke Skywalker with his adamantium claws if Luke had a light-saber. Sigh.

Then there was this store. A foul, unholy place. I don't even remember the name, but one look inside and I was mesmerized by the torture of the damned. This store that had only one purpose - the soul sucking corruption of tween and teen girls (10-19) and selling the affectations that turned normal girls into skanky, dim Hanna Montana's (I had to ask once - she is a fictitious pop-tart, who is played by a real pop-tart).

Purple, pink and glitter all swam before my eyes in a kaleidoscope of the worst of my junior high memories. It was awful. This was the womb of Mallrat girls. Ribbons and lip gloss were everywhere. T-shirts with rainbows and unicorns. The tackiest fake jewelry. Practice jewelry. Or training jewelry. This stuff no doubt lays the formula for a future time when little Timmy wants to get frisky.

Oh for a bookstore, or even something with manly tools. I forced myself on.

At this point, I want to say for the record, that nowhere in the Washington State driver's code does it state that baby strollers have the right of way. Yet, in this Audubon of a mall, all the maternals wield their carts of death with reckless abandon. Old people - they had full lives. People with lots of bags? Clip them and knock them off balance. Mallrats? Bowl them over. They are like rabbits anyway. Two $25 dollar gift cards to the Unholy Store and you've got a replacement.

It is not until one gets two entitled mommies with baby strollers, does one get a delicious game of Chicken. Neither gives as the gap narrows. The crowd looks on. Only at the very last possible moment does the smaller mommy slice away from collision with the bigger mommy. The laws of tonnage hold. A muffled "scuse me" from the loser as the bigger one smirks, "Pilates that, bitch!"

Well by this time I have ventured to the very heart of the mall, if heart is indeed the correct word. Center, perhaps? In this "heart" is a source of great entertainment for me. This is where the civilized shells are peeled away from homo sapiens and we are left at our most vile - The line to see Santa. This I am going to savor. In fact I regret there are no chairs to line up to watch the line. Hell, I'd buy coke and popcorn for this.

If the kid is not crying, the kid is hyper. If the kid is not hyper, the kid is bored. If the kid is not bored, the kid needs to go wee wee. If the kid wee wees, that is like a home run for me. I cheer, I do the wave. But if the kid holds it, they just complain and fidget, so there will be a home run at some point. The parents are there just as messed up. They want this year's picture to be better than last. It's always sad when one's distant great uncle Boris is grateful for the picture, but points out that he was unaware that little Timmy looked so much like his aunt Rita (the one the family compares her face to that of a sea bass).

Now Santa's little helpers are a desperate lot (listen/read David Saderis' essay about being an elf at Macy's for further reference) and they toy with the emotions of the line while Santa does his thing.

"What do you want to be little girl?" purrs the elf.

"I wanna be a doctor!" the girl beams with pride because her mommy, the Smith graduate stay-at-home told her she could be anything she wanted to be.

"How precious!" says the elf. "Not afraid of that pesky malpractice or easily contracted ebola, are ya! Next!"

I love this line. Especially when a mother/son duet has been standing in the line for what must be half the day passes in front of me. The boy huffs "This is stupid. Santa is stupid. I don't want my picture taken." The mother, who realizes how much quality shopping she could have been doing instead of standing in line to get a badly lit picture of her baby demon driving some old fart that much closer to a gun shop. "We’re almost there, honey." A total and complete lie. Then she resorts to bribery when he looks at her with hate. "I'll buy you " He makes a break for it. She grabs his arm and hisses at him like no one else can hear, "So help me, as God is my witness, I will beat your sorry ass and ground you until you qualify for medicare." This is nothing more than a blow-hard time out. He is not impressed. With extra-special venom, she hisses anew "I'll put the Wii on Craigslist, you little piece of crap." Whoohoo, score one for the mother. He folds like a napkin and submits to this heinous rite of passage.

I take it all in for a while and move on. More crowds, more evil. I finally arrive at Verizon Wireless. As I walk through the door I am greeted at the door by a cheery door-greeter. Kinda cute young blonde, but I know in less than four weeks, she'll be gray haired and eighty leaning against the door for support if I were to come back. I give her a courtesy nod.

Then as is the tradition in places such as these I scan for the head dullard. I know my luck will be to get the one with seeming brain damage, so I decide to cut out the middle steps and just seek him or her out. It doesn't take me long. I find him staring at his own hand somewhat mystified. I don't think I can find more dim.

"Excuse me, but I have a phone that is acting up..." I explain the problem. He stares at my phone in much the same way he stares at his hand. "Looks okay to me," says Forrest Gump.

"Don't you notice the blinky shimmer on the screen?" I say pointing it out.

"We don't fix phones, we swap 'em out. It'll cost you $50 for a swap."

"Say," I gasp, "the blinky went away..." I leave before he tries to sell me another phone.

To lick my wounds, I make my way to the Apple Store but once I get there, the goblin masses scare me away. It is a microcosm of the Mall itself. Instead, I gave up and find my friend. Strangely enough, only a few minutes away from the mall, it all starts to fade. Was it a dream? Auntie Em, Auntie Em!