Went to the mall the other day.
Not just any mall; a super-mall in Detroit.
I was visiting my daughter, her
Significant Other, and their five kids. Five kids is a lot, particularly when
they run the gamut from sulky teenager to violently yodeling toddler. I love
them all more than life itself, but not so much that I can stand to be cooped
up in a house with the lot of them for more than a few hours at a time.
Which is why I was at the mall. I
had already grabbed breakfast at my favorite Greek joint (Zorba’s), written my
column for that week at my favorite post-hippie-nouveau-chic coffee house (Java
Hut), and window shopped at a place called Junkyard Guitars (aptly named).
For me, these days, that’s a full
day. But it wasn’t even 3:30. I had no intention of returning to my daughter’s
home until it was a bit closer to the younger contingent’s respective bedtimes.
My daughter, who understands all
too clearly the desire to occasionally escape the company of juveniles,
suggested I try the mall.
Though I lived in Detroit for
years, it was a mall I’d never visited before. This is not surprising; I avoid
shopping whenever possible. Malls haven’t held much attraction for me since the
early ‘80s, when I used to try to meet girls there.
But it was either the mall or entertaining
2-year-old Ari (his name, I believe, means “offspring of the Tasmanian Devil”)
while my daughter nursed the baby. I chose the mall. It wasn’t a tough call.
Aubreii described it as “kind of
upscale.” I don’t know when she inherited her millions, but “kind of upscale”
doesn’t begin to scratch the surface. This place had a few stores I’d heard of,
but have never been to. Nordstrom. Sak’s Fifth Avenue. Leon’s Big Money Pit.
OK, I made that last one up, but
you get the idea. The kind of mega-shops that feature distressed T-shirts “on
sale” for $400. There was a jewelry store there, a few of them, in fact.
Working up my courage, I casually
strolled into one, thinking I might pick up a cute little necklace or something
for Mrs. Taylor (formerly Lori Frankforter). I was looking to drop as much as
fifty bucks.
I knew I was in trouble when not
one, but three sales clerks – wearing suits that cost more than my car – descended
on me. One offered me a glass of Riesling. She assured me it was a good year. I
told her it would be a pleasure to drink wine that didn’t come out of a box for
a change.
After that, two of the clerks
suddenly remembered they had other business to attend to. The one still stuck
with me did not seem thrilled with the prospect, but was determined to make the
best of it.
A professional.
“What can I show you?” is what
she said. What she meant was, “Something from our ‘found in the parking lot’
collection, perhaps?”
I told her I needed some earrings
for my wife. How expensive can a pair of earrings be, right? So I thought.
The clerk showed me a few
different “moderately priced” sets. Apparently “moderately” has a different
meaning in this mall than in the real world. Oh, I could have bought them. But
it would have meant first donning a ski mask and knocking over a few rural
banks.
I’m not sure my Catholic
upbringing would allow that. So I left without the earrings, and without my
wine. For some reason, it never quite made it out to me.
Riding the skywalk conveyor (when
you shop here, you don’t have to walk, baby!) from the north side of the mall
to the south, I took my first close look at the other shoppers. Everyone, every
single one of them, man, woman and child, was prettier than me. And better
dressed.
I felt like a Neanderthal shambling
into an encampment of homo sapiens. I figured it was only a matter of time
before security rolled up on a Segway and helped me decide to vacate the
premises, so instead I did it on my own.
On the ride back to Aubreii’s I
stopped at a Trader Joe’s and bought a couple bottles of Three Buck Chuck. I’m
not sure if it was a good year, unless last week was a good year, but for three
bucks, it’s OK wine.
Went well enough with the barbecue
my daughter put together that evening. Served on paper plates left over from
somebody’s birthday party.
It was interesting to peek into the
glitterati lives of the “other half,” but all-in-all, I’m pretty happy right
where I am. Besides, being so pretty all-day-every-day would take more effort
than I’m willing to exert.
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