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Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details. Shopping is something one has to do by J. G. Fabiano The Thanksgiving festivities are over, the Christmas decorations are up, and my wife has done something she has done early for the past thirty years; she bought and wrapped all of her gifts and placed them symmetrically around the tree. This is the signal that I dread every year because it represents a time that I have to do something I sincerely hate to do. I have to go Christmas shopping! If I delay this inevitable part of my life I am condemned to watch my wife stare under a tree that only has presents that she has purchased; many of which are for me. Needless to say, once the signal is given, off to the shopping malls I run. The morning of my designated shopping day always seems to be gray, damp, and dreary. It is usually a Saturday and that means there are at least a million things I would rather do. Hell, I would rather clean out my septic system than go to the mall! As I get into my truck I usually let out a sigh because I know that this will not be one of my better days. Driving to the mall on a Saturday morning is an experience in itself. The road leading to the mall is never that crowded just filled with hundreds of stop lights that are calibrated to turn red the instant you drive near them. Then come the shopping cities on the horizon. They look like clusters of castles surrounded by millions of shiny metal specks that I know I will soon become one of. That is, if I can find a parking space. I do not mind parking far away from where I have to go. When I am with my wife I have to search out the closest parking spot even though this entails driving around the lot for an un-Godly amount of time. I once asked why she had to park so close to where she wanted to shop, only to be asked when had I became an expert in shopping. Needless to say we found a spot near the entrance. Now it was my turn. I found my usual spot across the street from the mall behind the dumpster of a restaurant that changes owners every other year. The smell is a bit stifling but at least I don't have to worry about trying to find my car. About a half-an-hour later I reach one of the mall's entrances. This is a frightening experience for me and I feel like Dorothy who has just entered the Emerald Kingdom. Everything looks so bright and loud. There are people everywhere actually looking like they know what they are doing. The stores are all decorated in their holiday finest with the people rummaging throughout looking as decorated as the decorations. I always try and enter a mall through the main entrance. I do this because there is usually an area between the outside door and the entrance to the mall where I can catch my breath and talk myself into finding the courage to enter. A few years ago I decided to enter through the Filenes entrance. Everything seemed to be made out of glass. Even the walls were clear giving the impression that once one entered the store they were destined to never exit. After a few hours of wandering helplessly I noticed a sign over the opening to the mall. I was so excited that I walked directly toward the exit only to slam into one of the glass dividers that they had all over the store. I think they put them there to keep people from leaving the store. Needless to say an employee of the store took pity on me, held my hand, and led me out of the store. I now became part of a society I never should have been destined to belong in. There were people wandering all over the place. Many were carrying large bags and most had small children following close behind. The young adults were in groups of at least six, sometimes sixteen, wandering up and down the corridors of some futuristic society that I had hoped I would never live so long as to see. There were few older people at the mall during my shopping experience except of course for me. I assume that anyone who has survived their years knew well enough to stay out of weekend malls. For the past few years the stores have invaded the passageways of the mall. Years past I was able to work my way through the crowds by staying in the middle of the corridors between the stores. Today, there are small stores in the middle selling things from glass flowers to things that I have no idea what they are. They used to be small stands that looked like carts. Now they are stores intermixed between the stores leaving little space for the terrorized shopper to hide. When one is fortunate enough to find a bench to rest in, he or she discovers that they are all made for total discomfort. The God's of the mall must have spent millions of dollars designing these benches to make every one of one's vertebrae ache. I should have learned long ago that the mall is not a place where one is allowed to relax. After a few hours of wandering helplessly through the mall I have to make a decision as to where to buy the perfect present for my wife and daughter. Thank God my wife takes care of the rest of the family! My first destination is to a department store that sells perfume. I like to call them aromatic hydrocarbons but my wife insists it has to be something else and that I couldn't possibly produce anything like it in my chemistry lab. I wonder if she realizes that this is exactly where this product comes from. For the past few seasons when I find the perfume counter I have a tough time having someone help me. My wife tells me it has everything to do with my appearance because, as she explains, "I have the appearance of someone looking for pity other than someone who actually wants to buy something." I usually wait at the counter for a few minutes until an older, more experienced clerk throws a younger, and less experienced salesperson at me. It is obvious that they think there is little chance of much of a commission with what I could buy. I ask for what my wife or daughter asked me to ask for and the young clerk always shows me the toilet water instead of the perfume. For the life of me I can't figure out why anyone would want to buy toilet water but there are many things in my life that I can't understand. I finally convince her that I really want the perfume and notice that the older clerk, who mistook me for a pauper, has a disgusted look on her face because of the commissions she could have had. I must admit that I enjoy this particular part of my shopping experience. I then spend the next couple of hours wandering helplessly through the stores picking out gifts that are destined to be returned because I was not lucky enough to have been born with any concept of style. Every now and then I see a student of mine wandering through the mall. One year I asked if she could pick out some of my presents. Both, my wife and daughter were astonished that year because of my change of taste. When they found out what I did they were disappointed that I could not take the shopping experience more personally. A few years ago I discovered something rather remarkable. I could wander around the stores picking up my presents and deliver them to a place where they would wrap them for me. This was one of the greatest discoveries I have ever made. It rates right up there with applesauce. The Salvation Army runs the stand and all they asked for was a donation. This is by far the best $100.00 I've ever spent for the Christmas season. Finally, after an entire day shopping, I grab my packages that are crammed into large colorful shopping bags with wire handles and off to the parking lot I run. Now, if I can only remember which restaurant I parked behind! The End
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