Monday, July 10, 2006
Malls, Rats & Bullshit
Waiting for the subway on a visit to New York, I looked over the edge and down onto the rail. Rats were crawling around into holes - one could only imagine where they led - slithering about in all their filth. Still, I'd rather wave at the rats and take my place on a plastic seat shared with millions - than spend hours at the mall - like I did this afternoon. Oh it was a day children, it was a day. I went to the mall to have my car serviced at Sears. Because the prices were no more outrageous and the time frame was superior to every other repair shop that I called. All I needed was brake pads. Or so I thought... One store account re-activated, a hefty debt added and 2 1/2 hours later - I had new brakes alright, plus a rear alignment and 3 new tires. Cars make me feel stupid because I hate them. I simply can't grasp putting any significant amount of money into a car - for safety reasons or otherwise. For that reason, no matter how reasonable the decision or the need for repair - I always think it's useless and stupid. I always think I'm making a horrible decision because I know nothing about cars and need to call someone to tell me if what I'm doing is right or just make the decision myself - either of which makes me feel stupid. I don't like not knowing - but when it comes to cars I have no desire to learn. I have plenty of people who are willing to help me, wonderful men who offer to do the labor for a case of beer - but I never feel comfortable enough to ask them for help. So I laze about as the problem gets worse and hence the quandary I find myself in whenever situations like these arise. So I was stuck at the mall. Another day, another annoyance. Malls are for the fashion conscious, super shoppers, families of four and prepubescents whose tube tops don't fit their breasts. Malls smell horrible. The air is stale and recycled and makes me nauseous thinking of how I'm breathing in someone else's breathing out. It smells like feet, cheap perfume and baked pretzel. Food courts are awful places. Like a time warp where people get older but can't seem to be released from the twilight zone that is the jr. high cafeteria. No adult should eat at a food court. My mother works at the mall and every time I go there to see her, it makes me sad. Women like her get 45 min. lunches and either eat in crowded break rooms, or at small tables at mall eateries by themselves. Whenever I see one of these women, with their little name tags and their blank stares, I ache for my mother. I want her to not have to eat alone day after day. To never have to work a day in her life again. I go back to the service counter and Ed gives me my keys. Ed. The guy who was real happy to open up my gold card account all over again and put some interest on that puppy. He had a bad comb-over. And don't get me started on the goth chick whose legs were so hairy I thought she was a man. Seriously.