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.