It was Friday and the arrangements had already been made. I was to go to the mall after my morning shift and say “Bon Voyage!” to a departing member of our management team.
The hub's powdery cool air warmed as rays of light, broken by steel beams and power walking men, poured in from its usual spot in the east.
The day was almost done. All that was left was the usual sink in the men's room where I washed the pieces of torn flesh from my soiled hands and my old IBM, where I pretended to do paper work. The office was quiet and in a moment of rapidly dispersing energy my mind collapsed and I was out. A small trail of drool traveled down the corner of my mouth as a tap on my shoulder awoke me from my morning slumber.
Don't forget,
1 PM, Dave and Busters, got it.
The time of the event gave me some concern as I was usually out cold on the couch by then dreaming of brown trucks crushing innocent pedestrians with their thick rubber tires. Their mushy bodies collected on the side of the curb like red crayons dropped on concrete on a summer day and there was no one to clean it up. However, it was Friday, and I do believe that I could survive the encounter without too much trouble.
I initialed the end of day procedural check list and marched off into the golden light.
I arrived at the parking lot of the mall around 10:00 am. To my surprise, there were already quite a few cars parked in the lot despite the fact that the mall wasn't even open yet. There were people wandering about, shuffling their feet as if they were walking in sand—the last remnants of a lost caravan.
I was a little worried as I didn't exactly bring an acceptable change of clothes. The jeans that I had brought that now rested in the passenger seat of my car seemed a little too blue under the morning haze of the Inland Empire. It didn't quite occur to me that perhaps I should have stopped somewhere beforehand in order to change my raggedy work pants but it was too late. I couldn't go into the mall to change because I didn't want to return to my car just to drop off my clothes. I need to conserve my energy as much as possible or I would never survive.
With my head on a swivel I undid my belt and wiggled free from my pants, careful not to be seen by the searching eyes of the passer-bys. All was going according to plan as I reached over to my jeans and prepared the waist line for my probing feet. As I eyed my approach, I caught the glimpse of a shadow grazing over the dashboard of my car. It was only there for a moment but I knew what it was. Without hesitation I rested the jeans over my unclothed furry legs and put one hand on the steering wheel and started the car. From an outsider's perspective, it would appear that I was indeed wearing the damned things but a careful glance from the side would reveal the truth. There were groups of adults walking in front of my car with their children in hand towards the entrance of the mall. A few of them gave me a hurried glance as the fumes from the engine warned them of the potential energy brewing in my tires.
An old lady brought up the rear of the parade. The earth hissed as the torn rubber feet of her aluminum walker scratched the surface of its cracked face. It was in that moment that I pondered whether or not I should just go home. The Omen had been delivered and it fished eyed me through the corner of her brass spectacles.
No. Now was not the time for cowards.
I waited for her to pass before I turned off the car. I resumed my efforts of attempting to cloth myself while closing my eyes. There could be no distractions this time. If I was to be seen, I would be seen—and that would be the end of it.
I stepped out of my car and fastened my belt buckle. I parked directly outside of Dave and Busters so if there were to be trouble I could make for a quick escape. I removed my maroon work shirt with its three letter shield and threw it in the back seat of my car. I shut the door and caught my reflection in the driver side window and to my dismay I noticed that there was a giant tear under the armpit of my black under shirt.
I suppose it was time for some new clothes and it wasn't like this shirt with its natural air conditioning was worth keeping anyhow. I did a quick pat down of myself to make sure that my keys, wallet, and phone were all present before making my approach to the entrance to the mall and did so with a strenuous attempt to look dignified.
It has been a while now since I've been to any sort of mall as I tend to shy away from public places—especially when they are engineered to bully you into complete and utter mental collapse, where the spending of money appears to be the only sane course of action. Although I must admit, I am no stranger to company that they bring. Most of my childhood was spent inside a mall where I accompanied my mother and father on their melancholic stroll on the other side of the glass—the natural habitat of the penniless window shopper. We would always sit in the same place in the food court and have an Orange Julius or perhaps a carton of fried rice for lunch. Somewhere along the way I always seemed to separate from them and get lost inside dark rooms where arcade cabinets and glowing neon lights elevated my emotional disposition. When we finally decided to stroll out of the building we were almost always empty handed, except for the hidden smile that we managed to extract out of the day’s events and sew onto our weathered souls.
Entering the building I found that not much had changed since the last time I ventured into a mall.
As I took my first few steps onto the marble floor I felt the air thicken as the hurried blur of shoppers turned and mixed the atmosphere into a swirling disaster of perfume and synthesized creature comforts.
I forgot how stylish some people could be. I must have certainly looked like a hobo to the other people that were traveling through the mall but it didn't bother me too much. I mean, just because I was gazing aimlessly with tired eyes and dirt on my brow didn't mean that I was some sort of vagrant or blabbering invalid. I was here for a good reason.
All around me there were people dressed in fresh clean clothes that looked like they had been hanging in the Garden of Eden on a cloudless autumn day. It wouldn't have surprised me if most of these people were wearing clothes that were no more than a week old. Not that there was anything wrong with what they were wearing, but the cold stoic look on their faces clued me in to the idea that perhaps it was the clothes that were actually going for a stroll instead.
It seemed that the mall's inhabitants were divided into two groups, the ones who were oblivious to this dynamic and the ones who embraced it. You could see the gleeful grin on the ones who willingly allowed their clothes to prostitute their flesh to the viewing public and the subtle retreating stare of the inattentive mind. Whatever the case may be though, it seemed that the process by which they had chosen their clothes was somewhat intact and functional.
I always had trouble purchasing clothes. Walking into a department store was definitely at the bottom of my “least favorite things” to do list. I wanted nothing of it. The countless scattered pieces of cotton, polyester, and wool combined with poorly illuminated plastic signs that scream "SALE! SALE! SALE!" made my eyes swell and sag with inhibition. Not to mention the fact that mannequins are scary as fuck and the biggest lie in the world. The bastards who clothed these abominations should be slapped on the shins with pieces of bamboo for their treachery. It was never the case that the clothes displayed on those doppelgangers looked as good on your own body as it did on theirs. With their slim muscular physique and sculpted bone structure, the clothes clung and fell at all the right spots. It shouldn't have been a surprise for their bodies were designed for clothes and nothing more but still I coveted them. As for me, committing to an item of clothing to take with me into the dressing room was a spiritual process. I needed to feel that the piece of clothing and I were somehow destined to be together, that our relationship to each other would be of mutual benefit and that we would not hold each other's existence in vain. It was a very difficult process indeed—even more so with these heckling statues greeting me at every turn. There was doom surrounding the entire process and when I eventually made it to the register, I knew they could all see the shame on my face.
As I walked through the mall I could find no guiding force to help me along. I attempted to summon my confidence from the dark pit of my subconscious but it would not be disturbed this early in the morning. I was becoming self-conscious. I couldn't help but compare my jeans to ones that the others were wearing. The straight legged nature of them made it seem like I was walking on two blue stilts. There was something very artificial about the feel of them whereas the jeans the others worse looked so fluid and fitted in the right spots. The only item of clothing in my possession that felt natural was my shirt that should have been retired a long time ago and it was sad to know that I would be departing with it as soon as I found a suitable replacement. It had to be done, regardless of the consequences.
The names of the stores were all very familiar yet they were all very foreign at the same time. I helped supply these businesses with their gift bags and their merchandise but I never saw them in action. Every Friday like clockwork their shipments would come plummeting down metallic slides and a pair of worn human hands would have to load their shit into a truck for delivery. It didn't matter of course what condition the box was in as long as a good amount of the stuff still inhabited its dusty innards.
"Hey man they aren't going to accept that box, it’s all fucked up!"
"Silence my friend! It will all be over soon—now quickly, grab that tape gun! Remember your training!"
"No man! I can't do it! It wouldn't be right"
"It’s not our jobs to decide what is wrong and what is right! Our only purpose is to get people their shit no matter how depraved and ravaged it may be! Let them sort it out. Now do you remember the H technique? Watch me—two across...one down the center..."
"Fuck you!"
As traveled through the mall I noticed that in every store there seemed to be some man or woman overly dressed with a clipboard hugged close to their chest and a mic in their ear. Our eyes locked for the entire length of the great glass barriers and I knew that it was no time to go to war with these dealers of commerce. Their
practiced tongue knew the discourse of battle far too well whereas I was only armed with an assassin’s dagger, sheathed in the coarse fibers of my adolescent anger.
I didn't want to be bothered or harassed or flimflammed.
"How are you doing today sir can I help you?"
"Back you demon! I just want to buy some fucking socks!"
"Well that's good to hear sir because today if you sign up for our rewards card you can get a discount of 10 percent on your first purchase and we just so happen to have a buy one get one free special on our finest wool socks"
Store after store passed through my peripherals and I could feel time ticking away with a persistent and hideous giggle. It was now eleven thirty and I had not made any progress. I passed the American Eagles, the Forever 21s, and a male brothel known as Abercrombie and considered suicide.
Fearing the end I decided to simply walk into the next clothing store regardless of what it was. I came to the entrance of the store and made a sharp 90 degree turn into its steel framed mouth and found myself inside an Old Navy.
Ah, perhaps this mild mannered establishment could bring some answers. The lighting was clear and the floors were all scuffed up from the soles of dirty shoes. I found the men's section with relative ease and found piles of clothes on top of wooden tables. The prices seemed reasonable although I found the numerous stripped collared shirts hanging all around me a bit troublesome. Still, my optimism about the entire situation drove me forward. There was only one problem. The store was packed with people that were at least twenty years older than me. One by one they gathered around the great heaps of clothes. The universe hesitated for a moment and the world seemed to reconsider its orbit around the sun.
It was feeding time and the old beasts were ready. With ravenous hands wrapped in paper skin they tore through the clothes without hesitation. Their gold bracelets jingled and rode up and down their twig like forearms. They must have been shopping for their children or grandchildren for surely these people would not be wearing shirts and pants riddle with internet memes and half naked toon girls.
In the chaos I managed to snatch single shirt that happened to be printed with a purposely worn Batman logo. I held the shirt close and took a few steps back from the vultures that continued their scavenging. The shirt was decent enough and I still had a gentle fondness of Batman and the anger that fueled his ambitions. Still though, the events that have unfolded before me left my stomach feeling weak and unable to commit the idea of shelling out twenty bucks for a shirt that I might not ever wear again after today. It would always remind me of the day that I was pushed aside by the aging population who forced me to live with their table scraps for the rest of my life. I threw the shirt back into the pile and swiftly turned and headed for the exit.
My defeat was temporary for I believed that a solution had presented itself without warning. You see, there are certain types of clothing that I really don't mind wearing. If a person I know, say a family member, purchases an item of clothing for me I will wear it. No matter how hideous or terrible it may be I will proudly sport the damn thing in respect of the person's intentions. I have also been known to sport an item of clothing that explicitly states my interest in music and it was in this thought that I found myself into the dark lighted interior of a Hot Topic. Despite my hatred for their business model I gambled on the idea that they might have something that would be of interest to me and sure enough it was there—in all of its 4 letter glory. I grabbed it without hesitation and ignored the fact that it
was covered with images of fish who looked like they had just took acid for the first time. I didn't look at the price and made no attempt to make any sort of eye contact with anyone in the store. The decision had been made and there was no force in the universe that could lead my astray. Only I would hold the tools of my destruction.
"Would you like to sign up for our..."
"NO SIR I WOULD NOT LIKE TO THANK YOU NOW TAKE MY MONEY"
I walked out of the store, bag in hand, and searched desperately for a restroom. I thought my luck would gain momentum as I realized that I was near the food court but the residing restroom was packed with people. This endeavor would require a bit of privacy although I still made the effort to walk by an Asian restaurant for nostalgia's sake.
There surely had to be more restrooms in this god forsaken place. I mean, besides coming here to dress up our perverted souls, shitting in complete unison with total strangers seemed like the next best thing. I only had to take a few steps past the food court before I spotted a Game Works and hurried inside. At last, total comfort. Familiarity was now mine despite the fact that there was not a soul to be found—only the buzz of energy flowing through an array of aging monitors gave me sign that there was life here.
I found the restroom in the back and pushed the door open with my shoulder. The restroom was empty and I entered the first stall I saw. I hung my recent purchase on the hanger that was nailed to the back side of the door. With a zip and a squat I relieved my aching belly and indulged in my elating disposition. I had made it to safety and there was no one here to witness it.
I cleaned myself up and reached for the bag but my movement was interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door swinging open.
The footsteps were slow and deliberate and the hardened heel of the man made the entire room reverberate with sound. I could sense that he was nearby and my heart sank as he occupied the stall right next to mine. I could see the reflecting surface of his chrome tipped boots as they found their resting spot and suddenly felt violated as I was sure that was he spying on me.
Was he working for the mall or perhaps some government agency that was gathering information on the buying habits of young adult males? Was I violating some unwritten rule that prohibits one from wandering into a restroom and transforming into a fecal free well-dressed human being? Was it one of those mic'd Hench Men from Abercrombie who has come to make a last minute effort to sell me something from under the dividing walls?
I contemplated tearing off a small piece of toilet paper and casually laying it over his right boot in order to hide my reflection but I feared that the act would cause some great emotional response from his end. My only option was to wait it out.
I checked the time on my phone.
12:15, and the bastard was taking his time.
Gentle splashes of water and slight grunts lost their echoing properties and instead flowed directly into my inner ear. How could things turn out like this when everything was going so well?
12:20, and he hadn't even started to wipe yet. What vile creature has nested next to me!
I couldn't wait any longer. Fuck this man and his shiny toes. He shall not be the ruiner of my day. I grabbed the bag from the hanger and reached inside and pulled out my prize. I stomped my feet forcefully on the damp floor and removed my shirt from my now naked upper torso and put on my new self. I stood up and walked out of the stall, not caring of the flushing sensor was even activated. It was not my fault. If the Gods that controlled such devices wanted to punish this indecent man and all his indecent intentions then so be it. I would not be bothered by it. I tossed my raggedy undershirt into the bag and headed to the sink where I washed my hands in boiling hot water, mindful not to look at myself in the mirror. I was not ready.
I splashed my face with the steaming water and headed over to the paper towel dispenser and greedily pulled from its gaping mouth. Dried and feeling quite refreshed I walked over back to the sink and prepared myself for the first real glimpse of myself. It's not easy to really look at one's self after the mind has already made its own mental projection of what it thinks its carrier looks like. The body that stands there could be some spy who hijacked the brain in order to trick it and lure it into spewing its contents for all to see. But here today, the mind could rest at ease for all was as it should have been.
As I turned for the exit I could hear the stall open behind me and I could hear the intruder take only a few steps and no more. I could see him in standing there watching me exit the bathroom with glazed eyes—an embodiment of defeat and despair. He had failed.
I was home again. I walked over to the nearest trash bin and held the bag that contained the skin that I had just shed over its circular opening.
"It's been fun my friend, I will forever miss you"
I released the bag into the bin and hurried out of there before someone wondered what the fuck I was doing.
The home stretch was finally within my reach. It was too far to turn back now and the only acceptable course of action was to push forward through this circular hell. The world around me vanished into a blur of tiled walls and flickering fluorescents.
The only thing that caught my eye was as a Rainforest Cafe where a family was gathering for a group picture. The mother was hell bent on making sure to capture their satiated bellies and peaking smiles but the family looked rather zombified. The two kids, a son and a daughter, stood with their father between them. He embraced the two with all his sweaty pitted might and forced a smile with food still stuck in his yellow teeth. The mother must have taken about a dozen photographs and between each shot barked others at them to change both their position and their expression.
"Ok guys now a funny pose!"
"Smile bright!"
"Ok serious face! Pretend to be angry at each other! Yes yes good!"
The poor souls. I quickened my pace to a light jog as the Dave & Buster’s sign came into view. Hopefully those kids don't start an outlaw gang of poachers in hopes of riding themselves of the mental scarring caused by this terrible day.
Ah Dave & Busters, the perfect spot for a young person who wants to get wasted and still feel somewhat dignified for being a fucking loser. But who am I to judge? I was just a customer like everyone else.
I was happy to have made it here, in my new shirt and all; I just hoped no one could smell how new it was and start to ask questions.
But in this empty space of torn bar stools and lonely arcade cabinets I wanted to hide. What is this place really? All of it, what is it? It all seemed like a dirty trick, like a veil hiding a pair of dark feral eyes.
They were watching. They were watching through dark reflecting lenses, tallying their inventory.
I wore my shirt like a shield, hoping that it would protect me from those that would wish to manipulate my internal processes. I ordered a glass of water from the bar and waited for my friends to arrive. When it was all over, I would walk to my car and greet the afternoon sun with another smile stitched to my soul and hands made into fists.