The Mall is Like Heaven - Without the Long Wait

Ladies and gentlemen, in our society today there exists the closest thing to paradise that we may ever know. Some call these places capitals of commerce. To others, it is a Mecca of marketplaces. But to me, it will always be simply known as the mall.

Don’t give me your Walmart propaganda. I realize that you can get just about anything there these days. Heck, you can even buy children at Walmart now. Just the other day they tried to get me to adopt a small Cambodian boy. At least, I assumed she was a Walmart employee, though to be honest I don’t recall her wearing a blue vest or a nametag. And the boy kept saying, “No, Momma, no.” My point is that Walmart just doesn’t compare to the experience of shopping at the mall. The fountains, the food court, the free samples: you just can’t beat it.

I don’t know what it is, but there is something awesome about the mall. After all, it is the superficial, image-based nature of malls that allows 40 year old women to dress like they’re 20 and 12 year old girls to dress like they’re- well, 20 year old whores. What’s not to love? If I had to guess, I’d say that the second level of heaven is a giant shopping mall you spend all day at shopping with someone else's money. That, and everything is in your size and fits marvelously.

Just the other day, I bought a new pair of shorts, complete with frayed edges and small tears for that “authentic, worn” look. Today I found sand in the pockets. I think my shorts were "authenticated" by some dirty bastard on the Jersey shore.

The downside of going to the mall, of course, is having to deal with people. People, in my opinion, can be extremely annoying and rather troublesome. Personally, I try to avoid them at all costs. However, the mall goes to the trouble of finding you the perkiest, happiest-to-be-around clothes people that you will ever meet in your life. It’s like, “Oh, you couldn’t make it to Disney today? No worries, we brought the magic to you.”

I dare you to try on an article of clothing and not have to deal with these people. It’s like me going to the circus without a single clown making me cry like a little girl with attention issues. It just doesn’t happen. It’s bad enough that these people act like they’re your new best friend, but do they have to lie to me to get me to buy the clothes?

“You look great!” Really? Because this shirt is missing an arm. “If I didn't know that mannequin wasn't a real person, I'd swear you were twins. But still, it's just, like, so you.” Then I notice three other guys waiting in line to buy the shirt that is, like, so me. “Like, seriously. It’s totally jergin.” Really, is it jergin? I don’t know what jergin means, but as long as it isn’t mad whack, then that’s just fly with me, dawg.

I love it when I’m walking around the store and I see someone wearing the same outfit as the mannequin. Boy, that must be embarrassing. I hate it when I go somewhere and someone is wearing the exact same outfit as me. They totally should have coordinated. I think it’s so cool when someone can find a fresh, unique sense of style that defines them as a person, yet is the same retail uniform worn by a life-size doll. At this point, you’re basically being dressed by the OC wannabes running the store.

On my most recent trip to the local paradise of purchases, I discovered that retail fashion is not as friendly and loving as it appears on the surface. While using a spare mirror in the front of the store as my own personal dressing room, I noticed a female employee stationed at the door armed with a clipboard in her hand, a pen in her mouth and a vacant expression on her face. With job skills like this being passed along, it’s odd to think that the economy is struggling. Anyway, I was curious as to her sporadic note taking, so I calmly put my pants back on and decided to investigate further.

Playing on my ever so suave talents, I inconspicuously sauntered closer. I soon discovered that she was observing and grading the appearance of many of the customers as they entered the store: “A,” “B-,” “A+,” “has 11 fingers: F+.” Upon closer stalking- I mean inspection- I realized that she was approaching the highest graded individuals and offering them jobs at the store. This just proves my point: you only have to look like Brad Pitt to sell the clothes. You just need his money if you want to actually buy them. The name of the store shall remain nameless, but I will say that it rhymes with Abercrombie and Bitch.

Then again, I suppose all stores want to hire employees based on the image they’re trying to sell. Even the alternative clothing stores can be biased. It’s practically impossible to get a job at these places unless your body is plastered with tattoos and forked by piercings of unmentionable geography.

The most awkward experience I had during my last trip to consumer central was with some goofy bastard at this booth who hounded me for fifteen minutes about an “exciting real estate opportunity.” First of all, I don’t think it should be legal to use the words “exciting” and “real estate” in the same sentence. Second, it didn’t help his selling chances that my wandering attention was matched perfectly by the gaze of his lazy eye. Both were directionless and without purpose or aim.

Despite these minor flaws, I have such a high opinion of the mall that I even believe that it holds the hopes to many of life’s problems. While perusing the wares at a local Sam Goody, I accidentally bumped into a black gentleman at the DVD rack. I politely allowed him to go first and then I picked up my selection. Then I looked at the movie in his hands: The Matrix. He looked at what I held in mine: Chappelle Show: Season One. Neither of us spoke a word, but we each looked at one another, nodded and smiled as if to say, “Yes, brother, I do believe there is some hope for us after all.”

Fancy that; racial harmony and a brand new pair of pants all in the same day. Is there any crisis the mall can’t solve? I submit that there is not. Oh, and did I mention that I got a new job, too? If you or anyone you know soon becomes pregnant and in need of maternity wear, I’m the guy you want to talk to.

No comments:

Post a Comment