And the fun begins.
I feel as if I am stuck in that moment just before the rollercoaster careens down the hill, that moment of weightlessness where you realize there's nothing you can do and, for better or worse, you're about to have the ride of your life.
I find myself wishing I had just a few more days until my family arrives, so I could at least get my house clean. But my parents roll in tonight, and tomorrow will bring the rest of the relatives who are coming to celebrate this occasion.
Last night, I brought my wedding dress home. I had actually gone to pick it up on Tuesday, but the owner of the shop saw me walk in and got a panicky look on her face.
"I'm doing a bridal show this weekend, and I've been so busy getting ready for that that I completely forgot to press your dress!" she said. "Could you come back tomorrow?"
When I returned last night, my dress was ready, and to make up for my troubles, the shop owner gave me a free garter. We're not really doing the garter thing, but hey, I ought to do something bridal, right? Actually, I might have a lot more bridal in my future than I originally thought.
The dress shop owner asked me yesterday if I'm leaving for my honeymoon right away, or if I have Sunday free. Actually, the wedding is Sunday, so I'm kinda busy, but the long and short of it is, she wanted me to model for her bridal show. I'm tall, and I wear my size; my wedding dress didn't need any alterations at all, so she thinks I'd be a perfect model. In fact, she wanted to know if she could keep my name on file for the next show, sometime in May.
Well, all of that anti-bride stuff went right out the window at that comment. Of course I'd model! How fun would that be, walking the runway, looking beautiful. Yeah, I think I could handle that.
I won't lie -- I feel a bit like Marcia Brady right now. And three days before my wedding, that's not too bad.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Making Sense of Tragedy, An Impossible Task
I've been debating for the past few days whether to write anything about the Virginia Tech tragedy -- I thought it might seem out of place on a fun, silly blog like this -- but it's been so much on my mind that I just can't ignore it.
The summer after I graduated high school, 16 students and their five chaperones from my school were killed in a plane crash. At the time, I thought I had experienced some of the worst pain a young person ever could experience. I'd been told all my life, "you're young, but you're not invincible, so make good decisions." But at 17 years old, I learned in a very horrible way just how fragile life really is and that you don't have to be doing anything dangerous or stupid to have yours taken away.
In 1999, when the Columbine shootings occurred, I found out that I had been wrong before -- I hadn't experienced the worst pain. However traumatic it was for me to have lost my classmates, it had to have been unimaginably more horrible for the surviving Columbine students. To not only have lost classmates but to have lost them at the hands of people they knew, right in front of their eyes, had to have been so awful that I don't think there's even a word for it. I learned that lesson again on Monday.
All day, I stayed glued to news outlets, watching events unfold on the Virginia Tech campus. Who could have done such a terrible thing? And what could have driven him to become so desperate? The more we learn about Cho Seung Hui, the sadder the story becomes. His professors had recommended him for counseling, his classmates had called him "mean," joking about the possibility that someday he would "become a school shooter," and the police had investigated him as a stalking suspect, yet this obviously disturbed young man somehow slipped through everyone's fingers.
It's too soon to say whether we can really assign blame to anyone. To hear it told by the people who knew Cho Seung Hui, it was only a matter of time until he did something, but I think most of us could name at least one person we've met who seems unstable enough to hurt someone, someday. Disturbed does not always equal dangerous, and without explicit threats, no one could do much.
But whatever anyone knew or thought, the past can't be changed, and the name of Cho Seung Hui will go into the history books with the story of the tragedy for which he was responsible. The only thing anyone can do now is pray for the victims and their families, and hope for a quick recovery for those who were injured.
The emotional wounds will not heal easily. Those who were there, or knew someone there, might never find answers to all of their questions or any sense of peace about what's happened. And the rest of us will never have any idea what they're feeling, however much we want to show support by sharing the burden of their grief. But I think we will all hold our loved ones just a little bit closer.
The summer after I graduated high school, 16 students and their five chaperones from my school were killed in a plane crash. At the time, I thought I had experienced some of the worst pain a young person ever could experience. I'd been told all my life, "you're young, but you're not invincible, so make good decisions." But at 17 years old, I learned in a very horrible way just how fragile life really is and that you don't have to be doing anything dangerous or stupid to have yours taken away.
In 1999, when the Columbine shootings occurred, I found out that I had been wrong before -- I hadn't experienced the worst pain. However traumatic it was for me to have lost my classmates, it had to have been unimaginably more horrible for the surviving Columbine students. To not only have lost classmates but to have lost them at the hands of people they knew, right in front of their eyes, had to have been so awful that I don't think there's even a word for it. I learned that lesson again on Monday.
All day, I stayed glued to news outlets, watching events unfold on the Virginia Tech campus. Who could have done such a terrible thing? And what could have driven him to become so desperate? The more we learn about Cho Seung Hui, the sadder the story becomes. His professors had recommended him for counseling, his classmates had called him "mean," joking about the possibility that someday he would "become a school shooter," and the police had investigated him as a stalking suspect, yet this obviously disturbed young man somehow slipped through everyone's fingers.
It's too soon to say whether we can really assign blame to anyone. To hear it told by the people who knew Cho Seung Hui, it was only a matter of time until he did something, but I think most of us could name at least one person we've met who seems unstable enough to hurt someone, someday. Disturbed does not always equal dangerous, and without explicit threats, no one could do much.
But whatever anyone knew or thought, the past can't be changed, and the name of Cho Seung Hui will go into the history books with the story of the tragedy for which he was responsible. The only thing anyone can do now is pray for the victims and their families, and hope for a quick recovery for those who were injured.
The emotional wounds will not heal easily. Those who were there, or knew someone there, might never find answers to all of their questions or any sense of peace about what's happened. And the rest of us will never have any idea what they're feeling, however much we want to show support by sharing the burden of their grief. But I think we will all hold our loved ones just a little bit closer.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
No Wonder They Call My Parents The Fun Couple
With five days till my wedding, but nothing all that interesting to say about it, I find myself wanting to share a story about someone else. My mother.
This is my favorite Mom story of all time, and it's not even really about her but a friend of hers. I'm not sure if I like it so much because it's funny or if I feel that the friends she had back then prepared her for having such a goofy daughter (and I ain't talkin' about my sister).
My parents got married in 1968, when my mom was 20 and therefore not legally allowed to drink yet. My Aunt Nancy, however, was a few years older, so she, my mom and a couple of friends parked their convertible outside a bar, my aunt ran in and grabbed some beer for all of them, and they went out cruising around.
What a wild child my mom was. (Though not nearly as wild as my dad, who, on that same night, crossed a bridge standing on one foot on top of a van...or something like that, anyway. I've never quite understood that story, but I'm sure my sister will post the correct version.)
Anyway, at some point in the evening, my mom and company came across a bum walking on the sidewalk. He was absolutely filthy and eating a sandwich.
"Hey!" yelled one of my mom's friends out of the car. "What kind of sandwich is that?"
The bum replied, "hot ham."
"Hot ham!" my mom's friend exclaimed. "I love hot ham!" She jumped out of the car, grabbed the sandwich, took a bite, handed the sandwich back and went running back to the car.
I only hope my last night as a single girl is half as exciting.
Did that sound sarcastic? It wasn't supposed to.
This is my favorite Mom story of all time, and it's not even really about her but a friend of hers. I'm not sure if I like it so much because it's funny or if I feel that the friends she had back then prepared her for having such a goofy daughter (and I ain't talkin' about my sister).
My parents got married in 1968, when my mom was 20 and therefore not legally allowed to drink yet. My Aunt Nancy, however, was a few years older, so she, my mom and a couple of friends parked their convertible outside a bar, my aunt ran in and grabbed some beer for all of them, and they went out cruising around.
What a wild child my mom was. (Though not nearly as wild as my dad, who, on that same night, crossed a bridge standing on one foot on top of a van...or something like that, anyway. I've never quite understood that story, but I'm sure my sister will post the correct version.)
Anyway, at some point in the evening, my mom and company came across a bum walking on the sidewalk. He was absolutely filthy and eating a sandwich.
"Hey!" yelled one of my mom's friends out of the car. "What kind of sandwich is that?"
The bum replied, "hot ham."
"Hot ham!" my mom's friend exclaimed. "I love hot ham!" She jumped out of the car, grabbed the sandwich, took a bite, handed the sandwich back and went running back to the car.
I only hope my last night as a single girl is half as exciting.
Did that sound sarcastic? It wasn't supposed to.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Strangers With Comments
On Thursday evening, I was shopping for jewelry for my bridesmaids and got stuck trying to decide between two pairs of earrings. While I was taking some time to mull over my decision, I wandered into the sunglasses section to see if I could find something stylish for my upcoming honeymoon. I had just put on a pair and was admiring my reflection when from next to me came, "those are cute."
I looked over, and there was a woman standing a few feet away. I thought maybe she'd been complimenting my choice, but she wasn't looking at me, didn't seem to be talking to me. She didn't seem to be talking to anyone, actually. I did a mental shrug and went back to my business, and a minute later, she did it again.
"Oh, those are really cute." This time, I was sure she was talking to me, but when I glanced at her again, again, she was facing the other direction.
To whom was this lady speaking? I had no idea. There were other people milling around, so I thought maybe one of them was a friend of hers, but eventually, they dispersed and she and I were the only people in the area, and the comments continued.
"I've got to go find a dressing room. Where are the dressing rooms?" I thought about answering her, just on the off chance she really had been talking to me this whole time, but it just seemed weird. It was like she was talking to a pal, but the pal wasn't there. And she didn't seem to be on a cell phone or anything; if she had, the person on the other end must have been unbelievably perceptive to know what she was talking about.
Eventually, the woman walked away, and I returned to the jewelry, but this woman's one-sided conversation left me with a creepy feeling. Did she not realize she was alone? Was she, perhaps, shopping with a ghost friend no one else could see? I guess I'll never know.
I looked over, and there was a woman standing a few feet away. I thought maybe she'd been complimenting my choice, but she wasn't looking at me, didn't seem to be talking to me. She didn't seem to be talking to anyone, actually. I did a mental shrug and went back to my business, and a minute later, she did it again.
"Oh, those are really cute." This time, I was sure she was talking to me, but when I glanced at her again, again, she was facing the other direction.
To whom was this lady speaking? I had no idea. There were other people milling around, so I thought maybe one of them was a friend of hers, but eventually, they dispersed and she and I were the only people in the area, and the comments continued.
"I've got to go find a dressing room. Where are the dressing rooms?" I thought about answering her, just on the off chance she really had been talking to me this whole time, but it just seemed weird. It was like she was talking to a pal, but the pal wasn't there. And she didn't seem to be on a cell phone or anything; if she had, the person on the other end must have been unbelievably perceptive to know what she was talking about.
Eventually, the woman walked away, and I returned to the jewelry, but this woman's one-sided conversation left me with a creepy feeling. Did she not realize she was alone? Was she, perhaps, shopping with a ghost friend no one else could see? I guess I'll never know.
Friday, April 13, 2007
When It's Time To Change, Then It's Time To Change
The Stapling Jello crew took a vote, and the result was a unanimous 1-0 (since I am the only one on said crew): It's time for a new look.
Hope you like it. And if you don't, I really don't care: It's not as if I get paid to do this.
But if anyone would like to pay me to do this, I'll make this blog any darn color you want.
Hope you like it. And if you don't, I really don't care: It's not as if I get paid to do this.
But if anyone would like to pay me to do this, I'll make this blog any darn color you want.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
What Happened To Miss Independent?
A few years ago, a friend who was engaged commented to me that she was happy she'd found a man who would take care of her, because "all women want men who will take care of them."
I was quite taken aback by those words. I had thought the "knight in shining armor" bit had been driven out of woman consciousness long ago. Hadn't this girl ever heard of Rosie the Riveter? I'd certainly never gone looking for a man who would take care of me. I had a job, I had friends, and while a good relationship could -- and eventually did -- add wonderful things to my life, my happiness wasn't out of relief that I finally found a man who would dedicate his life to the sole purpose of making me happy. One of the things I love most about my fiance is that he hasn't done that; he considers us equal partners, and in my opinion, that's how it should be.
We all lean on others at times. Our friends, our family members. And we're there for them when they need us. It's not just our significant others, and it's certainly not just women; it's just the nature of humanity. But during those occasions when I need to lean on my fiance, I remember what my friend said and realize that, while I didn't go looking for a man to take care of me, I'm lucky that I found one who is willing.
Yesterday, one of the tires on my car looked pretty low. I didn't have a tire gauge (I'd had one at one time, but it was cheaply made, didn't work properly and subsequently fell apart), so I stopped at an auto parts store on the way home from work and picked up a new one. I went over to a gas station with free air and checked the pressure. Very low.
I'd never put air into my tires at this gas station, or any gas station, but it didn't look that hard. You just put the air nozzle thingy squarely on the tire nozzle thingy and it inflates, right? It's just like any other kind of air pump, right? Apparently not, because the only thing I succeeded in doing was taking more air out of the tire. So I called my fiance.
"What am I doing wrong?" I asked him. "I can't get this thing to work." He gave me a few instructions, and I tried again, and this time, I couldn't even get it to take air out of the tire, probably because there was so little left. I couldn't drive home or go looking for another place to get air with my tire near completely flat, so my sweetheart drove over to where I was to see what he could do.
He got the tire to inflate right away. I'd been trying for 10 minutes, and he had it ready to go in about 45 seconds. (I watched him do it; he did the exact same thing I'd done, although I think I just didn't shove the nozzle thingy on the other nozzle thingy far enough. But hey, it was only my first try, and I'm sure I'll have many more chances.)
It was just a little favor, and I'm sure that if I'd gone into the gas station looking for help, or stood there long enough looking pathetic, someone would have given me a hand. But it was great to know that help was just a phone call away.
I still can't say I agree with that statement my friend made back then. We shouldn't go looking for men who will take care of us, unless we know we can take care of them, too, when they need us. I don't want a knight in shining armor; I want a partner. And it's good to know I've got one who can work the free air hose at the gas station.
I was quite taken aback by those words. I had thought the "knight in shining armor" bit had been driven out of woman consciousness long ago. Hadn't this girl ever heard of Rosie the Riveter? I'd certainly never gone looking for a man who would take care of me. I had a job, I had friends, and while a good relationship could -- and eventually did -- add wonderful things to my life, my happiness wasn't out of relief that I finally found a man who would dedicate his life to the sole purpose of making me happy. One of the things I love most about my fiance is that he hasn't done that; he considers us equal partners, and in my opinion, that's how it should be.
We all lean on others at times. Our friends, our family members. And we're there for them when they need us. It's not just our significant others, and it's certainly not just women; it's just the nature of humanity. But during those occasions when I need to lean on my fiance, I remember what my friend said and realize that, while I didn't go looking for a man to take care of me, I'm lucky that I found one who is willing.
Yesterday, one of the tires on my car looked pretty low. I didn't have a tire gauge (I'd had one at one time, but it was cheaply made, didn't work properly and subsequently fell apart), so I stopped at an auto parts store on the way home from work and picked up a new one. I went over to a gas station with free air and checked the pressure. Very low.
I'd never put air into my tires at this gas station, or any gas station, but it didn't look that hard. You just put the air nozzle thingy squarely on the tire nozzle thingy and it inflates, right? It's just like any other kind of air pump, right? Apparently not, because the only thing I succeeded in doing was taking more air out of the tire. So I called my fiance.
"What am I doing wrong?" I asked him. "I can't get this thing to work." He gave me a few instructions, and I tried again, and this time, I couldn't even get it to take air out of the tire, probably because there was so little left. I couldn't drive home or go looking for another place to get air with my tire near completely flat, so my sweetheart drove over to where I was to see what he could do.
He got the tire to inflate right away. I'd been trying for 10 minutes, and he had it ready to go in about 45 seconds. (I watched him do it; he did the exact same thing I'd done, although I think I just didn't shove the nozzle thingy on the other nozzle thingy far enough. But hey, it was only my first try, and I'm sure I'll have many more chances.)
It was just a little favor, and I'm sure that if I'd gone into the gas station looking for help, or stood there long enough looking pathetic, someone would have given me a hand. But it was great to know that help was just a phone call away.
I still can't say I agree with that statement my friend made back then. We shouldn't go looking for men who will take care of us, unless we know we can take care of them, too, when they need us. I don't want a knight in shining armor; I want a partner. And it's good to know I've got one who can work the free air hose at the gas station.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Songs I Will Leap Over Things To Turn Off
"Big Yellow Taxi" I hate this song, no matter who sings it, although I hate the Amy Grant version the most because of all the "ooh, bop bop bop bop." If you really "don't know what you've got till it's gone," I'd love to find out exactly what I've got in this song.
"How To Save A Life" by The Fray. I used to think this song was nice (even after I found out it was featured on Grey's Anatomy), but after hearing it approximately 50 times within a one-week time span, I was over it, and now, just a few notes of that piano at the beginning is more than enough.
Any song with talking in it. For example, "You're Still The One" by Shania Twain. If I catch it in the middle, it's not that bad, but that intro talking she does is just annoying. Same with Kelly Clarkson's "Walk Away." I actually kind of like the song, but near the end, she screams "just leave!" and I want to.
"Bring Me To Life" by Evanescence. Not only do I not like Amy What's-her-name's voice, there's the shouting again. "Wake me up! Can't wake up!"
"New Shoes" by Paolo Nutini. I love shoes, but I find the song kind of stupid. I don't hate it as much as the others I've mentioned here, but also, the name Nutini reminds me of Nutella.
And garnering an honorable mention, even though it is not a song, per se...
"Hi, I'm here for Verizon Wireless..." Whenever I hear these words, I change the radio station, because I know that in about half a second, that annoying background music will kick in.
"How To Save A Life" by The Fray. I used to think this song was nice (even after I found out it was featured on Grey's Anatomy), but after hearing it approximately 50 times within a one-week time span, I was over it, and now, just a few notes of that piano at the beginning is more than enough.
Any song with talking in it. For example, "You're Still The One" by Shania Twain. If I catch it in the middle, it's not that bad, but that intro talking she does is just annoying. Same with Kelly Clarkson's "Walk Away." I actually kind of like the song, but near the end, she screams "just leave!" and I want to.
"Bring Me To Life" by Evanescence. Not only do I not like Amy What's-her-name's voice, there's the shouting again. "Wake me up! Can't wake up!"
"New Shoes" by Paolo Nutini. I love shoes, but I find the song kind of stupid. I don't hate it as much as the others I've mentioned here, but also, the name Nutini reminds me of Nutella.
And garnering an honorable mention, even though it is not a song, per se...
"Hi, I'm here for Verizon Wireless..." Whenever I hear these words, I change the radio station, because I know that in about half a second, that annoying background music will kick in.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Good Friday
Today was one of those days.
No, not one of those days. The other kind. The kind of day when everything goes well, when the good karma you've put out into the world comes back to you. Those days are rare, but when they happen, it's always a wonderful surprise.
I had big errand plans today. Haircut, wedding odds and ends, car wash, cake at my fiance's office to celebrate our upcoming wedding. Not a terribly exciting day, although I do love cake.
I went to get my hair cut at a spa and salon that has several locations throughout the metro area. I'd been to the location in downtown Chicago (four of my six future sisters-in-law get their hair done by someone there; they recommended her to me, and I loved what she did), but I didn't want to spend half the day driving into the city, parking, getting my hair cut and driving home, so I figured I'd try the one near me.
I ended up having a great time. The woman who ended up cutting my hair was fun (although not quite as fun as the one downtown -- but maybe I just think that because that one told me over and over that my fiance's sisters love me), and I'm very happy with what she did to my hair. Then, when I was leaving, on my way to pay, she said, "would you like a complimentary makeup application?"
Uh, yeah I would!
So she handed me off to a makeup person, and I got a new look for my afternoon. It was a fantastic surprise to be pampered like that, especially for free, although I did tip the girl. When she was done, she gave me a coupon for another free makeup application!
I left feeling wonderful (and too pretty for the rest of my errands, but they had to get done). I went to grab a bite for lunch, and serendipitously, I ran into a friend from my old office, picking up lunch for the crew.
"Everyone usually sits together in the cafeteria and eats now," she said. "You should come over." So I did. And I got to have lunch with some pals instead of alone.
But the fun wasn't over yet.
The big wedding chore on my list was to order cookies for the reception (we're not cake people; we're big cookie people). I chatted with the lady, and as I was leaving, told her I wanted to buy a few cookies to take with me. She put a few into a bag and said, "it's on me."
Free makeup, lunch with friends and free cookies...and all of this happened before the cake and gift card we received from my fiance's coworkers.
Sometimes you just have a good day.
No, not one of those days. The other kind. The kind of day when everything goes well, when the good karma you've put out into the world comes back to you. Those days are rare, but when they happen, it's always a wonderful surprise.
I had big errand plans today. Haircut, wedding odds and ends, car wash, cake at my fiance's office to celebrate our upcoming wedding. Not a terribly exciting day, although I do love cake.
I went to get my hair cut at a spa and salon that has several locations throughout the metro area. I'd been to the location in downtown Chicago (four of my six future sisters-in-law get their hair done by someone there; they recommended her to me, and I loved what she did), but I didn't want to spend half the day driving into the city, parking, getting my hair cut and driving home, so I figured I'd try the one near me.
I ended up having a great time. The woman who ended up cutting my hair was fun (although not quite as fun as the one downtown -- but maybe I just think that because that one told me over and over that my fiance's sisters love me), and I'm very happy with what she did to my hair. Then, when I was leaving, on my way to pay, she said, "would you like a complimentary makeup application?"
Uh, yeah I would!
So she handed me off to a makeup person, and I got a new look for my afternoon. It was a fantastic surprise to be pampered like that, especially for free, although I did tip the girl. When she was done, she gave me a coupon for another free makeup application!
I left feeling wonderful (and too pretty for the rest of my errands, but they had to get done). I went to grab a bite for lunch, and serendipitously, I ran into a friend from my old office, picking up lunch for the crew.
"Everyone usually sits together in the cafeteria and eats now," she said. "You should come over." So I did. And I got to have lunch with some pals instead of alone.
But the fun wasn't over yet.
The big wedding chore on my list was to order cookies for the reception (we're not cake people; we're big cookie people). I chatted with the lady, and as I was leaving, told her I wanted to buy a few cookies to take with me. She put a few into a bag and said, "it's on me."
Free makeup, lunch with friends and free cookies...and all of this happened before the cake and gift card we received from my fiance's coworkers.
Sometimes you just have a good day.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
An Open Letter To Punxsutawney Phil...Again
Dear Punxsutawney Phil,
It is with great regret that I write to you today; I've been resisting for awhile, but I simply cannot ignore this issue any longer.
It is 29 degrees outside today, and we had snow flurries! In April! Early spring my ass!
"But Erika," you're wood-chuck-chucking in your little rodenty voice, "you live in Chicago, not in Punxsutawney, so you can't blame me for your weather."
Well, it's only 37 where you are, smart guy, and it's supposed to snow tomorrow. What else you got?
I'm sure you're all comfy in your posh little burrow on Gobbler's Knob (or, if there is justice in the world, some cage in a research lab), but I think you'd better recant your prediction and apologize. Or the next shadow you'll see is an angry mob coming to get you.
Sincerely,
Erika
It is with great regret that I write to you today; I've been resisting for awhile, but I simply cannot ignore this issue any longer.
It is 29 degrees outside today, and we had snow flurries! In April! Early spring my ass!
"But Erika," you're wood-chuck-chucking in your little rodenty voice, "you live in Chicago, not in Punxsutawney, so you can't blame me for your weather."
Well, it's only 37 where you are, smart guy, and it's supposed to snow tomorrow. What else you got?
I'm sure you're all comfy in your posh little burrow on Gobbler's Knob (or, if there is justice in the world, some cage in a research lab), but I think you'd better recant your prediction and apologize. Or the next shadow you'll see is an angry mob coming to get you.
Sincerely,
Erika
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Mall Madness
I've done it again, and I'm not sure if I'll recover this time.
Yesterday, I went shopping at the mall. And as usual, I came up pretty much empty.
Funny the things that make you realize you're advancing in years.
When I was a kid, I loved the mall. Looking back, I'm not sure why. Maybe it was the lure of new stuff. Shopping was always special when I was younger; my sister and I didn't have the kind of mom who bought us new things every other week. When we went to the mall with a real shopping agenda, it was a very big occasion, at least in my mind.
The mall was also one of the first places I was allowed to strike out on my own. There weren't too many kids my age who lived in our neighborhood, and we lived in a semi-rural area that wasn't really conducive to running around or riding bikes freely without supervision, so the mall was a place I could go with my parents and then go off with a friend and spend a couple of hours out from under the nose of authority. This usually meant shopping at the dollar store or getting sundaes from McDonald's, because that was about all we could afford. Later, when I had a job and more than a dollar at a time, but no bills to speak of yet, the mall was a fun place to buy new shoes or clothes or books.
I'm not quite sure when the mall turned into a place I avoid at all costs unless I absolutely have to go there, but I think it was about the time that I realized I'm not the mall's target market anymore. When I go into a mall, I feel like all the teenagers are looking at me and wondering what I'm doing there. And why wouldn't they? Not only do I not bare my midriff (or upper thighs) when I shop, I'm one of the few people there who has driven myself but not driven a carload of kids as well.
And it's not just the other patrons who look at me as a mall anomaly. It's the employees too. Being one of the very few shoppers with an annual income of more than $6,000 per year, I am considered a gold mine or something. I walk past the cell phone kiosks and 19-year-old guys accost me, telling me I must switch my service immediately. I go into a department store and am doused with perfume. And God forbid I actually purchase something, lest I be forced to answer a 10-minute questionnaire.
Employee: Will this be on your store charge card today?
Me: No.
Employee: Would you like to apply for a store charge card and save 15 percent?
Me: No thank you.
Employee: There's no paperwork to fill out; it'll only take a minute. And today, everyone who applies gets a free pair of socks, whether you're approved or not.
Me: No, that's really alright, thank you. I have all the credit cards I need.
Employee: You'll get coupons in the mail every month and flyers about our upcoming sales.
Me: No, really, I don't need it.
Employee: It's up to you, of course, but this purchase could have cost you only (quick tally) fifty cents if you were to apply today and use our scratch off coupon to get up to 75 percent off your total purchase.
I find myself either lying that I already have that store's card or promising that I'll apply next time I come in. Luckily, they don't make me sign a sworn statement on that.
Don't get me wrong; the mall does have its merits. It's nice not having to drive from place to place if I don't find what I want in the first store I visit (plus stores I couldn't visit anywhere but the mall), and sometimes there's no better treat than an Orange Julius.
But I wish going to the mall still held the same magic wonder of my youth, still was the land of opportunity I saw when I was a kid. Maybe next time, I'll have my mom drive me.
Yesterday, I went shopping at the mall. And as usual, I came up pretty much empty.
Funny the things that make you realize you're advancing in years.
When I was a kid, I loved the mall. Looking back, I'm not sure why. Maybe it was the lure of new stuff. Shopping was always special when I was younger; my sister and I didn't have the kind of mom who bought us new things every other week. When we went to the mall with a real shopping agenda, it was a very big occasion, at least in my mind.
The mall was also one of the first places I was allowed to strike out on my own. There weren't too many kids my age who lived in our neighborhood, and we lived in a semi-rural area that wasn't really conducive to running around or riding bikes freely without supervision, so the mall was a place I could go with my parents and then go off with a friend and spend a couple of hours out from under the nose of authority. This usually meant shopping at the dollar store or getting sundaes from McDonald's, because that was about all we could afford. Later, when I had a job and more than a dollar at a time, but no bills to speak of yet, the mall was a fun place to buy new shoes or clothes or books.
I'm not quite sure when the mall turned into a place I avoid at all costs unless I absolutely have to go there, but I think it was about the time that I realized I'm not the mall's target market anymore. When I go into a mall, I feel like all the teenagers are looking at me and wondering what I'm doing there. And why wouldn't they? Not only do I not bare my midriff (or upper thighs) when I shop, I'm one of the few people there who has driven myself but not driven a carload of kids as well.
And it's not just the other patrons who look at me as a mall anomaly. It's the employees too. Being one of the very few shoppers with an annual income of more than $6,000 per year, I am considered a gold mine or something. I walk past the cell phone kiosks and 19-year-old guys accost me, telling me I must switch my service immediately. I go into a department store and am doused with perfume. And God forbid I actually purchase something, lest I be forced to answer a 10-minute questionnaire.
Employee: Will this be on your store charge card today?
Me: No.
Employee: Would you like to apply for a store charge card and save 15 percent?
Me: No thank you.
Employee: There's no paperwork to fill out; it'll only take a minute. And today, everyone who applies gets a free pair of socks, whether you're approved or not.
Me: No, that's really alright, thank you. I have all the credit cards I need.
Employee: You'll get coupons in the mail every month and flyers about our upcoming sales.
Me: No, really, I don't need it.
Employee: It's up to you, of course, but this purchase could have cost you only (quick tally) fifty cents if you were to apply today and use our scratch off coupon to get up to 75 percent off your total purchase.
I find myself either lying that I already have that store's card or promising that I'll apply next time I come in. Luckily, they don't make me sign a sworn statement on that.
Don't get me wrong; the mall does have its merits. It's nice not having to drive from place to place if I don't find what I want in the first store I visit (plus stores I couldn't visit anywhere but the mall), and sometimes there's no better treat than an Orange Julius.
But I wish going to the mall still held the same magic wonder of my youth, still was the land of opportunity I saw when I was a kid. Maybe next time, I'll have my mom drive me.
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