Recently, I played hookey from work and went to the mall. I decided that if I really wanted to devote myself to professional writing, I would stop working and walk around malls more. There’s no end of life experience that you can gain from a day at the mall.
There are no windows in the mall. I presume that this operates on the casino principle of natural light somehow enticing people away from spending their money. Of course, the only thing that shoppers would see outside the mall is parking lots. I can’t see a lot of shoppers in Hecht’s suddenly glued to the windows pining to be wandering through sun scorched pavement sucking in exhaust fumes. In fact, I think malls SHOULD have windows to send the message that, “Hey, outdoors sucks! Stay in the mall, where it’s reasonably clean and it smells nice. See?? You can even sit in our artificially created outdoors in the middle of the mall with one tree and a fountain full of spare change.”
Of course, the mall is all about sending subtle messages to make you spend money. Almost all stores in the mall are designed to make you feel bad about yourself. Clothing stores remind you that you are always out of fashion and that the clothes you are wearing are horrible and you would be better off wearing nothing. At least, you think that until you go to Abercrombie and Fitch, the only store that advertises clothing with pictures of naked people, which reminds you that as horrible as your clothes are, your body is even worse and you should go to the GNC store next to it and buy some diet pills. Jewelry stores remind you that you should be marrying someone, but instead you’re depressingly single and you should stroll right on by Baby Gap. Ethan Allen furniture serves only to remind you that your home appears to have been decorated by vandals using second-hand furniture purchased from a fraternity. By the time you’ve subjected yourself to an hours worth of reminders about the wreck of your life, you’ve made it to the food court, where the healthiest food on offer is a 2-pound chocolate chip cookie, so you drown your sorrows in an Orange Julius and a chili dog before you go to Suncoast Video to take an unnatural interest in the Black Cinema section while you cast furtive glances at the neighboring Mature section.
But the mall also challenges you, I think. It often raises profound questions for me. For example, what could possibly happen in a Banana Republic store that requires all of the employees to carry walkie-talkies? The store is not large enough for any one employee to be out of sight of all the other employees, yet they all carry two-way radios. I can only imagine that Banana Republic has the fastest unfolded sweater response time in the United States.
Another challenge is to be adequately informed. You really need to know your stuff in the mall, because you can bet the store clerks do. I had to buy shoes on my trip. The clerk asked what I was looking for. “Shoes,” I said. He raised an eyebrow. I shuffled my feet uncomfortably. “B-b-black shoes,” I stammered. He sighed. He pointed to rows and rows of black shoes. “More specifically, sir? Loafer, wingtip, patent leather, orthopedic?” I looked at him blankly. “Black,” I repeated. After another pause, I added, “Size 12.” He asked me to leave the store.
I went to the Yankee Candle store. They make all those scented candles everyone likes. I figured that even if I could not afford to fix my hygiene, buy new furniture, or dress better, I could at least see to it that my apartment smelled decent. I spent half an hour sniffing candles. I settled on Buttercream because it had pictures of cakes on it and I was hungry for some cake. As I paid for it, the clerk asked why I settled on Buttercream. I suddenly realized that, as I was unable to eat the candle, my reasoning did not hold a lot of water. I told her that I was actually looking for Peaches and Cream. “We don’t make that anymore. We’re coming out with Raspberries and Cream soon, though.” I nodded as if that were a perfectly reasonable substitution.
Clutching my candle, I staggered back into the outdoors. As natural light and a gentle breeze tickled my senses, I began to sink back into reality. A reality where my clothes are quite suitable, my body is in good shape, I smell very nice, and my apartment has decent furniture. A reality where raspeberries are not a substitute for peaches. And where there is no substitute for sunlight at all.