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I took my nephew and two nieces out shopping to snag some post-holiday steals. Got them up wicked early and cooked breakfast at the house … thought I was being real strategic in planning a morning trip to the mall, mid-week.
We arrived at 10:03 a.m. and the mall was already crackin’.
Ugh.
I shuffled the kids into the nearest cafe. I knew I would be ordering an espresso, there would be no free time — and no free extremities with 3 kids — to be leisurely sipping a latte while hunting for heavily discounted treasures in a mall that feels more like a giant can of tightly packed sardines.
I got in line behind a herd of too-cool teens. They were in no hurry. I struggled to keep a smile, tried desperately to remain in role model mode and not roll my eyes, as they giggled and pondered out loud about whether an XL iced peppermint coffee or an XL mocha-loca-choca-something would be more “DEE-licious.”
Come on tweemos! You’re killin’ me.
I’ve got clearance items to get my paws on! I’ve got bins to dig through and 3 kids whose attention spans will expire before I hit the east wing of this monster shopping center! Let’s go!
Btw … I say tweemos with love. I was once a tween forever-indebted to The Cure and black hair dye. I get it. I’m not poking fun. In fact, both of those things still live in my life, just on a much milder level. All of my Cure favs are all loaded into the iPod and every 10 months or so I lather up in an onyx temp dye. (There’s something hot about the darkest hue in the dead of winter.)
Back to the cafe … my little ones were being so patient. I realized it was because they were fully entertained. They stared up, wide-eyed, at the big high schoolers … studying their every move in awe. Finally it was my turn. I ordered a shot of espresso and slammed it like a junkie at a methadone clinic.
“Thanks!” I called out to the barista with a purple fauxhawk. She gave me a wink. I smiled in return, scooped the kids and we were off.
I decided to aim high, the mall wasn’t going to get any less crowded, might as well hit the flagship department store that is notorious for deep discounts. It was a zoo. Not just any zoo. It was hell. Lines snaking through the racks with no sign of where they began or where they ended, babies screeching, salespeople scrambling, clothing hung sloppily everywhere — some piled on tabletops hiding the neatly folded stacks that were probably buried below … other merchandise just dumped on the floor.
Just as I was wondering … who are these people who drop a shirt on the ground in a store and walk away … I became an eye witness.
He was right in front of me … a man in his late 30s/early 40s … alone, carrying a giant ball of sweaters and trousers. I tuned in just in time to watch a burgundy cable knit, strewn on the tippy-top of his clearance tower, slowly slip and fall beside his feet. He looked down at the pile of chunky yarn on the floor and without an expression, casually walked away. Wow. Did that just happen? Without so much as an attempt, or even a glance around to see if anyone was watching his careless antics? I don’t get it … a quick bend-and-reach and that sweater would have gone home with him. So maybe he didn’t want the thing. Perhaps he grew irritated and changed his mind, but damn, pick it up…
“This is crazy,” my niece said as she maintained a firm grip on the back of my hoodie.
I grabbed an empty hanger and hung the burgundy, now dirty, sweater.
“Yeah, insane,” the nephew retorted.
“Chaos. Let’s go,” I said, switching my baby niece to the other hip and headed for the exit. We re-entered the mall in a different spot … oh no, where are we?
Before I could get my bearings a loud, synchronized, “VANS!!!” blared from my pint-sized crowd.
I followed their bright eyes to a giant shoe store full of neon sale signs. I immediately zoned in on a pair of Nike dunks.
“Ooooooooo,” I admired. We filed into the store like some hypnotized zombies … this happens to me from time to time when exposed to shoes.
14.99, 25.99, 70% off … say what?!
Now, this, is when I really love the holidays.
The kids’ choices were going to set me back about 40 bucks — score! I surrendered to the high dunks I’d spotted from outside.
My nephew called me out at the register, “Hey Auntie, don’t you already have those?”
“No sweetie, I have the Blazer Mids, these are different,” I defended myself, knowing damn well that I have issues far beyond the typical woman who loves shoes.
There were 3 salespeople behind the counter. A 20-something dude who definitely waked-and-baked, a knock-out latina in her late teens and a 20-something cute girl with an evident, ugly, attitude. Stoner dude was ringing me up. He handed my stack of shoe boxes to attitude girl so that she could deactivate the sensors.
She opened my dunks, nudged the latin queen and shoved a sneaker in her face, “These are fresh, but high tops are soooooooooooooooooooooo over. Like out.”
Latin lovely looked at me with an eek face as if to say … yikes I’m so sorry. My co-worker didn’t mean to be rude. .
I smiled, acknowledging her facial apology.
Latin girl tried to rescue her fellow shoe-slinger by adding a professional, “I don’t think we’re getting any more of those in.”
Attitude chick went on and on about how high tops are phasing out and it “totally blows.”
Spicolli noticed none of the conversation. He was out to lunch … hey, he probably was out lunch come to think of it. He was staring into space, probably dreaming about the food court and his 30 minute break.
I started to get really upset and it had nothing to do with the sour puss and her Debbie Downer ‘tude in regards to my high top sneakers.
I drifted away … the sound of the scanner beeping sku bars helped me count the number of years that I’ve been back in high tops … 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 wait … what?
I remembered being in New York and being thrilled when all of the classics returned to the shoe stores … high top Chuck Taylors, Reeboks, and Nikes. And now they’re leaving again? A fit of anger flowed through my body.
Wait … seriously … why am I freaking out about high tops?
What’s the big deal if I have to go to eBay rather than the local mall (that sucks anyway) to find my favorite sneaks? They’re classics. They’ll always be available. Get a hold of yourself.
We were able to make it out of the mall alive … my little crew decided that after-Christmas sales are “totally overrated” after the shoe store. Later on that evening I started thinking about my high top freak out.
I fessed up to myself about what’s really bothering me … I AM TERRIFIED BY TIME AND HOW QUICKLY IT IS SWEEPING AWAY.
I am not worried at all about aging or about the fads that come and go … I’m worried about the lightning-speed at which the years flash by.
The stupid high top trend simply served as a timeline to remind me where I am and where I’ve been. I officially had my “life is short” moment, in the mall of all places.
I realized that my fear of time and its speed, boils down to this:
I DO NOT WANT TO MISS OUT ON ANYTHING.
I didn’t make a new year’s resolution for 2009, but I did assess a fear that I have and that’s pretty cool I guess. Now I need to figure out how to translate that into a productive action. Maybe that’s my goal for ’09?
Or, maybe I just need to BUY MORE HIGH TOPS?
Kidding.
www.rileysride.com
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