A disease-ridden plastic abomination in the shape of an automobile rocks back and forth. Two small children, the car's only occupants, sit docile in the vehicle, their faces set more with empty stares of confusion than with joy. Periodically, they press the horn, which lets out an annoying high pitched squeal. Their parents stand to the side looking elsewhere; either lost, or weary.

Welcome to the mall. Vast swaths of humanity flow from one end to the other, in and out of stores, up and down escalators. The sheer sight of the many may very well annoy you. With so many people around, the mind resorts to drawing halo-effect conclusions based on anecdotal evidence which is really only fit for describing a caricature.

The family above? Why they must be on vacation, and spent the day wandering aimlessly. The children were tired; they screamed up a storm. The parents fight a lot, don't like kids, and aren't sure how to raise their children. Desperately, they threw them into the nearest mechanical device, and fed the beast whatever was necessary to make it start shaking. Now, in the relative calm that's followed, they stare achingly at the machine, comparing the economic benefits of paying for it, verses grabbing some booze and getting rip-roaring drunk. The booze certainly would've lasted longer.

I went into a bookstore to look around. At one point, an employee was standing nearby, so I did my best to appear to look like I knew what I was doing and what I was looking for. Yes, this employee would not have to wonder if I was lost. They would know that I didn't need any help. No questions asked.

"Do you need help with anything?"

Damn it. "No thanks. I'm just browsing."

"Well, I'll be around if you have any questions."

I have to say, I was glad she'd made the effort to let me know this. After all, as I had been browsing peacefully a few moments earlier, my mind raced with troubling thoughts. "If I find myself in the unthinkable position where I must pose a question, is there anyone that will be able to answer it? Will they be around? What if they're hiding, or in a different store entirely?" More than once the stress was so intense that I considered simply leaving the store and going home. Thanks to the diligence of this employee, I was saved.

Really, the whole customer-employee experience leaves both parties worse off. You know they're miserable (their faces tell the whole story), and you just feel bad for the whole lot of them, in all of their horrible job, minimum wage glory. On the other hand, they do provide chances for entertainment.

As I sat perusing a book, two sales associates encountered each other in their natural habitat. Evidently, I missed the start of the tussle, but it seems that one employee made a joke about the other being in their 'territory'. The intruding worker, taking this accusation quite seriously, but wanting to be as friendly as possible, tries to politely explain:

"Oh, I just wanted to check out the 'What's New' section," she says, endeavoring to be non-confrontational. "You're still the 'master of the west.'"

She starts to walk away from the other worker, but in her mind, she knows that the 'master of the west' comment sounded downright snarky. Enough time has passed to make any further extension of this conversation doubly awkward, but she decides to clarify her good humor about the whole situation by trying to exit with a joke.

"The gunslinger," she musters with a mock-serious voice, followed quickly by a forced, weak laugh.

They part ways, both confused about what just happened. And I can't blame them. None of it made a shred of sense.

As I leave, I walk past the comic rack. A 40-year-old man is kneeling on the floor, hunched over a comic book. His body is tense with excitement as he flips the page. Everywhere I go, people are browsing anime -- at the bookstore, at the video store, all over. Sad masses of humanity eagerly peruse through piles of garbage, like a flock of insatiable seagulls. Don't look, you tell yourself, the horrible sight will sear itself into your mind.

When you wander, you ponder whether your presence in the mall makes you one of these sad souls. When they look at you, do they see what you see in them? Indeed, these are the questions which keep us up at night.

As I pondered this thought on my way out of this god-forsaken place, I walked past a man holding the hand of his small son, who yelled, and pulled, and contorted his body wildly like a "Calvin and Hobbes" strip come alive. His father looked around, seemingly oblivious to the whirlwind of energy attached to his hand. This oddly brought a smile to my face. The child clearly despised being at the mall. Relax, young one. In time, you too will grow up to be just another faceless zombie.


As those two children were jostled back and forth in their ride, barely even registering any level of excitement, no doubt their parents wondered why they even bothered throwing the toonie (that's $2, foreigners) in the silly thing to begin with. A total waste of time, the thought of which really just makes you depressed. And I can think of nothing which summarizes the typical visit to the mall any better.

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