A Day at the Mall

Today I visited Brea Mall, the best, worst, and only mall in the town of Brea. I went in the company of a couple other interns. They stopped in at the Apple Store; one intern’s computer had busted, necessitating a trip to the friendly folks at Apple. I wasted a couple minutes wandering around the store. If you’ve never been inside an Apple boutique—it’s basically where techno-geeks go when they die.

The iPods and iPhones and iMinis sit on iTables, while iCustomers wander around iGawking at the giant wall-mounted iMacs. It’s all very interactive. For instance, you can go over to one of the iMacs and start surfing the web! Though you probably shouldn’t visit porn sites. I found that out through painful experiences. Never have I gotten so many angry looks from complete strangers.

Or…you can pick up an iPod and start rockin’ out to some…Dave Brubeck? Well, that’s what was playing on the one I grabbed. It was one of those mini hot pink nanos that look like a stick of chewing gum. It offered a wide variety of tunes, including, but not limited to, Journey, Marvin Gaye, and Tchaikovsky (acknowledged as the Marvin Gaye of 19th century Russia). I started out with a little Madonna. When one of the other interns came walking by I quickly flipped to a Miles Davis track, in order to preserve my credibility as a pretentious cretin.

But after a couple minutes of loitering, I felt the urge to get out and stretch my legs. Time for some mall walking! I wanted to find out what it’s like to be an old person. Mall walking, as we all know, is the national pastime for people above the age of sixty. What do they find so appealing about it? Is it the sights, sounds, and smells of the mall? Is it the feel of the wind in what’s left of their hair? Is it because mall-walking gives them an opportunity to mingle with the younger generation? Or is it due to some primal instinct, some natural urge as uncontrollable as the desire to eat and to mate?

Personally, I think it’s the smell of Cinnabon that gets them up and shuffling. But that’s only my opinion.

I didn’t look at a directory; direction is the antithesis of mall-walking. When you mall-walk you must be completely unguided. You must travel by instinct alone; it’s like fire-walking, only with less chance of burning your hallex to a cinder. I began by puttering to Macy’s and back. This gave me the courage to attempt a longer putter, this time puttering all the way to the Nordstrom’s across the food court. In order to give my puttering a more authentic feel, I made sure to hitch up my pants several inches too high.

I puttered past all sorts of wonderful sights. The Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory…Mrs. Field’s Cookies…a half-eaten grape popsicle someone had dropped on the floor. I spent five minutes puttering around a fountain in the center of the mall. After completing at least a dozen laps, I started to get funny looks from the shady guys working the $2 sunglass kiosks. I decided the time was ripe to make my exit, so I puttered away, stage left. I also puttered past a booth with a sign reading “Cash for Gold!” I puttered up and offered two of my fillings in exchange for some quick cash. They refused, which was just as well, given my fillings are made of stainless steel.

That was enough adventure for one day, though. I had gotten valuable practice for my future career as an old person. Allow me to list a few “Do’s” and “Don’t’s” of mallwalking:

DO shuffle like an extra in a zombie film
DON’T express anything that could be mistaken for pleasure
DO bump into potted plants and benches
DON’T bump into people, especially heavily muscled guys in wifebeaters
DO wander into boutiques like a gnat wandering into a bug zapper
DON’T eat a grape popsicle you found on the floor

That about covers it. Not much else happened worth noting. We ate a nice little Italian place; we were the only customers in a restaurant built to seat half the population of Milan. I enjoyed a delicious Fiorentino (Italian for “cheese”) pizza. And so ended my day. More mediocre adventures to come!