I Hate Malls.

Did I ever mention that? How much I hate malls, as in with the power of a thousand fiery suns at noon in the summer?

I worked in malls most of my working years.
One mall in particular.
Parkway Plaza.
I know it intimately.
And hate it intimately.

Now, there are a few things that can help me raise above my hate and enjoy my time in that mall.
Good company, thats one.
A movie, sitting in the dark, forgetting where I am, that often works.
The possibility of taking home something that I can WRAP, that will make me grit my teeth and bear it.
Liquor, that's one that can (and occasionally HAS) take the edge off.

Oh, hush. It's PARKWAY PLAZA. I'm not the only one with a few belts in my tummy. The mallrats? The cell phone kiosk guys? The owner of the shoe place that sleeps in the back room? Just ask the guys at the liquor store across the street. And why do you think Things Remembered and The TinderBox do such good business on flasks?

It's a rather ghetto mall, if you haven't figured that out. It's Rome of the bus world.
If you don't have -
-a job
-a life
-self respect
-the inclination to aquire any of the above-
then you spend your days at Parkway Plaza.

Once as I was entering the mall, right in front of the door was a young mother and a little boy. The little boy had sat down right in front of the door and was pitching a crying fit. He sobbed, heartbroken, unconsolably, tears running down his fat little cheeks as he looked imploringly up at his mother.
I looked down at him and said, "I know just how you feel."
He quieted and nodded solemly.

I hate malls.

This year, I'm going to try to get all my christmas shopping done without setting foot in a mall.
Wish me luck.