I don't do the mall. The mall does me. This one at least, with its flat screen televisions hanging down over me as I walk beneath, scouring the ceilings for the words "Restroom This Way"
Dr.Phil points as me as I pass, "Don't forget, you have choices!" The words scroll across the giant screen and I look down and straight ahead - down the tube of kiosks, storefront displays, and people, shuffling past me, some walking into me, all seeming to somehow fit here, in this mad environment.
Choices. Uh huh. I acknowledge Dr. Phil with an eye roll as I glance up to the next TV screen - some other daytime television "celebrity" is spouting rapid fire words, selling...something. I don't wait to find out what.
I keep walking, toward who knows where. I hear two men discussing the poor shoe choice another shopper has made - clearly, they don't match his charcoal pants.
I can only imagine what they could say about me.
Rumpled t-shirt, the same denim Capri's I've been sporting for the past few days, only my wedding and anniversary rings. I feel like a sore thumb, a big one, swelled with gangrene and turning chartreuse, in this world of flash and fashion.
Oh, the fashion.
Apparently, I've missed something. Somewhere between graduating from college and this afternoon, I fell into a hiccup in the fashion world and am now sort of bobbing around in the sea of newness like a piece of lint in the sink that just won't make it's final exit down the drain.
And that's fine with me. I'll just try to avoid places like "the mall" as often as possible. And I do already, really. They take too much of my money, for one thing. Even walking out with an $88 dress for $50, I feel cheated, swindled. I can practically hear the walls snickering at me as I make my long, slow-footed walk between the final rows of cosmetic counters before I'll make my grand exit into reality.
But really, they can keep that money. It's the time spent that I want back.
Dr.Phil points as me as I pass, "Don't forget, you have choices!" The words scroll across the giant screen and I look down and straight ahead - down the tube of kiosks, storefront displays, and people, shuffling past me, some walking into me, all seeming to somehow fit here, in this mad environment.
Choices. Uh huh. I acknowledge Dr. Phil with an eye roll as I glance up to the next TV screen - some other daytime television "celebrity" is spouting rapid fire words, selling...something. I don't wait to find out what.
I keep walking, toward who knows where. I hear two men discussing the poor shoe choice another shopper has made - clearly, they don't match his charcoal pants.
I can only imagine what they could say about me.
Rumpled t-shirt, the same denim Capri's I've been sporting for the past few days, only my wedding and anniversary rings. I feel like a sore thumb, a big one, swelled with gangrene and turning chartreuse, in this world of flash and fashion.
Oh, the fashion.
Apparently, I've missed something. Somewhere between graduating from college and this afternoon, I fell into a hiccup in the fashion world and am now sort of bobbing around in the sea of newness like a piece of lint in the sink that just won't make it's final exit down the drain.
And that's fine with me. I'll just try to avoid places like "the mall" as often as possible. And I do already, really. They take too much of my money, for one thing. Even walking out with an $88 dress for $50, I feel cheated, swindled. I can practically hear the walls snickering at me as I make my long, slow-footed walk between the final rows of cosmetic counters before I'll make my grand exit into reality.
But really, they can keep that money. It's the time spent that I want back.
4 Comments:
You take the words out of my mouth. Places to be avoided at all cost.
Feeling out of place in a mall is a sign of robust mental health.
Oh, would that they all be swallowed into the belly of the earth... m
Malls are simply a suburb of Hell itself. Fashion is a closer suburb.
I recommend music on headphones while you have to be there. They work magic for me. Me and the lovely music, la la la.
Besides, I'll sum up the current fashion: junior pornstar and/or girdle and padded bra era hollywood starlet.
Feel better?
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