A Day at the Mall

Tomorrow I'm heading to the mall to catch some of the 'end of season' sales that all of the stores are having. I'm looking forward to it, but then again I'm not. I say that because there is so much involved with going to the mall. You can't just go to the mall and shop. My typical shopping trip goes something like this:

First I have to find a parking space, and no matter how early I get there, I always seem to end up at the very end of the parking lot.

After hiking a mile to the mall doors, I walk inside and the place is crawling with people. Everyone else wants to catch the end of season sales too. Great.

Zig-zagging my way through the crowd, I finally make it to the store where I wanted to shop. I walk inside and the music is blaring. I can't hear myself think, or talk to the person who is with me. "What did you say? I can't hear you." Why is the music so loud in some stores? It's never music that I listen to, so, I start to think that maybe I'm in a store that is for younger people. Once I look at the clothing I realize I'm right. All of the clothes are for women with flat stomachs and who wear a size zero. Apparently these women also like to wear clothes that look like they were found in the dumpster behind the store. The jeans have rips, tears, and other signs of wear and the tops are faded and sheer. Discouraged, and wanting to save what hearing I have left, I leave the store.

I walk to the other end of the mall to see what my favorite department store has. As luck would have it, there's a shoe sale going on. I walk over to the rack that has my size, drooling at the prices that I pass; 50% off, 75% off. I can't wait to see what they have in my size. Rounding the end of the rack, poof!, the aisle is swarming with women.

At first I wait patiently, but patience is something that I've always wanted to work on, but never had the patience to. Besides, some of these women are just 'mooning' over the shoes. They aren't seriously going to buy them. So, I push my way through and find a spot where I can stand and see what is left. The selection is disappointing. Most of these shoes look like they've been around quite a few seasons. However, there is one pair left that looks like my style. I can't reach them because there is a little old lady, around 90, who is looking at them. There is no way in hell that she is going to buy these shoes, but she tries them on, walks over to the mirror to look at her feet, looks at the price again, then back to the mirror. This goes on for what seems like forever, which, in reality is probably only five minutes. As soon as she takes them off and returns them to the shelf, I grab them and three other pair that are perfect for me. Upon closer inspection, they aren't my size. Someone had put them on the wrong rack. It turns out there aren't any shoes that I like. As soon as I return them to the correct rack, the little old lady snatches them and shoots me a dirty look.

I walk over to the clothing department trying to regain some of my momentum. The clothes are all half on, half off the hangers. Everything looks sloppy and previously worn. Again, I start to lose my patience as I look at one top, then another and another. Dissatisfied, I walk over to the handbag department.

The handbag department is having a big sale too. However, as I glance at the choices, again I am disappointed. What kind of woman uses those little handbags that are no bigger than a pack of tissues and the straps are so short the purse sits at your armpit? Where do you put your medium-sized cosmetic bag, eyeglasses, wallet-combination checkbook, coupon caddy, pill case for your daily medication, and pocket calendar? Where are 'the suitcases' (as my husband calls them) that I like to carry. You know the ones I mean. They are the huge bags that have room for everything but the kitchen sink. I don't see any of those, just bags that look like something you would carry to the beach.

I decide to check out the jewelry department. Again I see sales prices that are too good to be true. Once I look at what is on sale, I can understand why. Everything is picked-over. Necklaces are tangled together and earrings are missing their partners. I can't find anything.

As I walk past the men's department I remember that my husband requested socks and underwear. I dive between the sportcoats and make my way to that section. No one is shopping in the men's department so I can look at whatever I want without waiting or fighting my way to it. I grab a pack of underwear and some socks and I'm on my way in no time. I next head to the housewares department. I figure if I can't find something to wear, maybe I can find something to make my kitchen duties easier.

Of course, I don't see any sales tags on the items that I want. The crockpots, toaster ovens and waffle irons are priced way too much. Or at prices that I don't want to pay is closer to the truth. I leave the housewares department empty handed too.

As I make my way out of the department store, I pass the lingerie. What the heck. I stop and look at the offerings there. This only discourages me more, but on a different level. Here I am reminded of things I used to be able to wear. The sexy teddies, skimpy-little babydoll sets, and sheer bras and panties all mock me as I stand there looking at them. As I walk away, empty-handed yet again, I console myself with the thought "When would I wear it?"

I leave the mall and make my way to the parking lot. I try to remember where I parked, but can't. I walk around aimlessly pushing the 'unlock' button on my little remote hoping to see the familiar flicker of headlights. People pass me with smirks on their faces knowing that I am stupid enough to forget where I parked.

Finally I find my car and I'm on my way. I sit in the line of traffic with only the small bag of socks and underwear for my husband. The trip was a flop.