Ryan's Blog

I hate malls. Every one. I hate the tiny malls with nothing but eight jewelry stores and a few cell phone kiosks. I hate the ritzy malls near the affluent neighborhoods. I hate them all.

The parking situation is ridiculous unless you arrive at the mall at 5 am. I arrived at the mall at a time when normal people do - when the sun is up. And consequently, I had to park in the nearby county. But it was fine; I packed enough food and water for the journey. Finally inside the mall, I don't feel any better about my shopping experience. I can't find anything. I can't even find that mall map with the "you are here". I feel like I need some sort of mall-friendly G.P.S.

One thing that is true of a bi-level mall: If you enter the mall on the first floor, your destination will be on the second, and vice versa. Never fails. So I make my way to the escalators. Escalators scare the shit out of me. I know they shouldn't but they do. I don't know when to step. It moves too fast. I look around and I see confident (dare I say, cocky) people getting on like it was nobody's business - just one fluid motion on and off. I grip the moving handrail and hope for the best... Hmm, that wasn't so bad.

Maybe my hatred of malls is more a hatred of shopping. My "shopping" is more of just "getting" and then "getting out". I'll explain. For example, if I want a navy blue polo shirt, I will do all the necessary pre-mall reconnaissance on the navy blue polo shirt, so that when I enter the mall, I can get it and get out in the shortest time possible.

No, shopping in the mall isn't all the fun it's cracked up to be. Not when you have a veritable gauntlet before you. And what do I mean by "gauntlet"? You'll have to look it up in the dictionary. I don't have the time to be explaining every word to you. Keep up. First, I run into the massage-chair Asians. Now, I am not a racist. I just have never seen any other ethnicity operating this area. A massage would be nice, though. Stay focused! Next is the Cell Phone Kiosk Salespeople. Why do I feel like I need to lie to them? I could just say what I'm thinking, which is, "Stay away from me. I have pepper spray." So I end up lying to them, saying things like, "I already have that phone" or, "I use (enter any other cell phone service provider here) and I'm happy with them" or, "Look, a tiger!"

At this point, I'm feeling pretty good. I managed to get through the first two obstacles, when...BAM! Food court. Shit. Just when I thought I would make it. Now I'm a panic-driven mess, arms and legs moving merely by instinct. I twist and turn, duck and roll. A gang of men and women, armed with trays and trays of Bourbon Chicken loom between the navy blue polo shirt and me. I've come this far, I tell myself, as one last burst of adrenaline fills my veins. I bolt, race to the shirt, buy it without trying it on, and leave.

I'm free.

Now, how do I get out of here?