It's true that I don't like malls; but what I said is that I don't go to malls.
Whenever I tell someone I don't go to malls, they respond that they also hate malls.
Hating something and avoiding something are two entirely different things.
Apparently, many people hate "the mall." And yet, I think a lot of these people are going to "the mall" anyway. I also think they're going there often.
I grew up in Baltimore. Before there were malls. Well, before there were indoor malls.
We did have an open air mall, but you could only really go in the summer. And the stores were all for old people. Except for Hess Shoes - they had shoes for kids and a train that ran very slowly around the perimeter of the ceiling.
But then, sometime in my pre-teens - or what's now hiply called the "tweens" - they opened Columbia Mall.
Columbia Mall, located in an experimental sterile town based on a new concept of community "developments," was huge. It had lots of cool stores and a food court where we could enjoy a variety of different types of food for cheap.
My mom used to take us to Columbia Mall for the day. It was a special trip. Not like when we walked for hours on end around the museums and Smithsoneons in Washington, but really just about fun. We'd hang out, get some pizza, maybe buy something, and go home. Yeah, it was fun.
Back then, my mom would say "let's go to the mall" and there was no question which mall she was talking about. There was only one mall.
Later, though, another mall came along and the malls had to be identified by name. We didn't go to Columbia Mall anymore because Security Mall was closer and cheaper. Eventually, Security Mall was too cheap and too cheesy and Hunt Valley Mall was where the nicer stores were. We went there instead.
By 1982, there were a lot of malls. And I knew all of them intimately. I had spent more than my fair share of time in malls.
1982 was also my "year off" from college. We won't discuss how many years a "year off" actually equals.
I was taking a year off to figure out whether I wanted to go the psychiatry route or the law route. Did I want to work with sick people or sick people? It was a difficult choice.
I spent my days in a mental institution. Working, that is. Gaining experience and insight. And a smoking habit necessary for bonding effectively with the patients.
At night, I hung up coats in a dance club.
Are you laughing? Because you might just be surprised to find out that I made more money hanging up coats then I'll probably ever make again in my professional life.
In those days, it cost .50 to hang up a coat. So here's the deal...
A guy would come up with a coat. He'd give me the .50 change from the dollar he paid and then an extra dollar or two so I'd remember him. Little did he know that every guy did the same thing.
The girls were great too. The girls would leave me the .50 change and give me an extra dollar as if to say "I work too, honey. It sucks."
At the end of the night, I'd have a boatload of quarters and dollar bills.
At that time, in between housing gigs, I was abusing my parents' welcome mat. I lived in their basement. Just me, my boxes and the oh-so-pleasant attitude of "don't worry, I won't be here one minute longer than I absolutely have to be."
Frankly, I can't believe they still talk to me.
Anyway, I'd get home late from the dance club on the big party nights - Friday and Saturday. On Sundays, my one day off from everything, I'd sleep until noon. When my little brother heard me moving around, he'd come downstairs to my zone of moodiness and start rolling the quarters.
He was ten years old.
He'd roll the quarters while I got dressed. And then we'd go to the mall where we'd spend the day buying candy and junk food and stupid toys that fall apart right after you open them. And, of course we got a big cup of frozen yogurt topped with fruit. Frozen yogurt was new back then and it was a really special treat.
My little brother still talks to me too.
Sometime during that coat hanging season, I moved from my parent's basement to a great old building in downtown Baltimore near Johns Hopkins University. We're talking really great and really old.
The building had no air conditioning. When I brought in a small window unit, I also found out that the building had no extra power sources. An electrician friend came out and, after an inspection for possible secret hidden power, told me that the building was a fire trap. The wiring, he said, was so old and bad that it was laughable.
I don't recall laughing when the building burned down to the ground five months later. I do, however, remember returning home one night to find the streets near my building completely blocked off and massive amounts of thick black smoke clouding the night sky.
The next thing I remember is standing in my parents' house. I was wearing my only remaining possessions. A pair of pants and a shirt. And they had to be thrown away. They smelled like fire.
That wasn't the best day of my life.
My little brother was at a loss. Without quarters to roll, he had no viable method of showing his support.
My mother, trying to be positive and upbeat, handed me a credit card.
"Go to the mall. Buy whatever you need. Get a whole new wardrobe. Buy everything beautiful that you see. Start from scratch."
You know, I'm sure these are the words every young girl dreams of hearing. But for some reason, going to the mall that day with my brother just wasn't fun.
I managed to buy a pair of shoes, some underwear and an outfit to get me by for a couple of days. But standing in the middle of the junior department trying to decide my style in the flash of an afternoon was a little overwhelming.
My little brother and I still laugh about how he, a ten year old boy, signed the credit card receipts at the register while I quietly cried standing behind him.
Who knows what the sales clerk was thinking.
I stopped going to malls about six or seven years ago. I was tired of buying things I didn't need. I was tired of getting home with a new black skirt only to hang it up next to ten of the same exact black skirt. I was tired of lighting that made me and the world look so peachy and dreamy and fake. I was tired of store windows that made me believe I wasn't pretty enough with what I had. That having a new dress or accessory was all that stood between me and a better life.
But I didn't stop going to malls entirely.
I still went to the mall on Christmas Eve.
To me, a mall on Christmas Eve is just kind of exciting. People scurrying around to buy last minute gifts is a kind of frantic I enjoy for an hour. I always felt like the holiday season wasn't exactly right unless I bought a last minute gift or two on Christmas Eve.
So every Christmas Eve, I suffer through the same hassle. No parking. Lots of annoying people rushing about being unreasonable. Kids screaming. Cranky parents.
I thought that was special.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday morning, a Saturday, I was en route to Baltimore. I wanted to quickly pick up charms for my niece's new bracelet. I had been told that the charms were available at Nordstroms.
At approximately 11:00 am, I exited the Virginia highway and prepared to enter the Tyson's Corner mall parking lot. I had carefully researched the location of Nordstroms so that I could just swoop in, get the charms and split. No extraneous activities.
I figured the whole thing would take ten minutes tops. It was a regular Saturday morning. I knew the mall would be empty.
Well, blow me away.
Guess what the rest of the world is doing while I'm busy running, drinking coffee and not having children? They're apparently at the mall.
Man, that place looked like f%&#! Christmas. The parking lot was full and people were frantic and children were screaming and parents were cranky. And it was only April!
Well, I swallowed my intolerance and managed to get in. I got out with six charms. And my niece has been duly informed that my next trip to Nordstroms will take place - as scheduled - on December 24th. One hour. Two last minute gifts. No funny stuff.
My goal today is to make some crazy stuff happen so I can forget about yesterday's traumatic experience. While I generally enjoy savoring my experiences, the magic of the mall is something I just don't get.
But who am I to know? I ended up liking the folks in the mental institution better than the folks in law school.