Stash Stapinski has had his eyes out for a pair of pink shorts. Long story short–if it’s pink we buy it. Pink shirts, pink shorts, pink golf tees, pink golf balls, pink ribbon car air fresheners, pink ribbon lottery scratch off tickets. It’s warm, he’s got a weekend of golf ahead of him…he needs shorts, and even more importantly, they need to be pink.
Working third shift does not aid in the shopping experience. His basic existence is work, eat, sleep … in that order. Sunday through Friday. Saturday is reserved for golf. With a schedule like this, there is no time for shopping–and that’s precisely what I’ve been put on earth for.
And, really, what else would I have to do on a beautiful day like today? Clean bathrooms? Transport children to and from camp? Make breakfast, lunch, dinner? Grocery Shop? Play host to my western visitor? Clip a weeks worth of Blago articles from various local newspapers to send to my anti-internet father in Phoenix? Add a touch up to the cut and style appointment scheduled last week? Call back the salon to request saving of hair clippings to bring to cemetery to keep Bambi’s great-great grand-deer from eating my mother-in-law’s beautiful flower garden? Finally get around to publishing a long-overdue blog? Oh, sure I got all that done and more before heading to Orland’s ultimate shopping destination.
After dropping the oldest and friend at the house of another friend, I headed to my least favorite place in search of the pink shorts Stash found last time we were at the mall, but decided not to buy because they weren’t quite the style he was looking for.
Three weeks–and several store searches later–he finds that–newsflash– there are NO pink shorts for sale anywhere. And, therefore, the pink shorts that were not quite the style he was looking for are suddenly just what he needs, today, June 24, 2010.
I dreaded the long haul from the parking lot into the mall. I dreaded hoofing it from Macy’s to Sears in search of Aeropostale…the location of the prized pink shorts. I dreaded a boring shopping trip alone. Afterall, there was no one to share the subtle humor a trip to Orland Square can provide.
I avoided the kiosk employee who tried to get my attention long enough to suggest my hair need straightening with a cool looking iron…oh, honey, that’s only the beginning of what this mop needs. I averted my eyes into the sale bins inside Victoria’s Secret. I blinked–and blinked again. Yep, it was real.
There were three Arabic gals in head scarves secured tightly enough to hold their flip phones at the ready, while they pawed through clearance panty bins–one admired a black lace thong and held it up for the gal next to her. Seriously?? If these lovely ladies have to cover arms and legs and most of their face with a scarf, what makes it okay in Allah’s eyes to don a black lace thong. I can’t imagine Jesus would approve. Not a chance in hell his friend Allah might.
Back to reality, back to avoiding kiosk sales people…caught the end of a woman having her moustache threaded–who would let someone do this to them in the privacy of the middle of the mall?? Even more questionable…who would pay for it??
As I headed up the stairs and through the crowd gathered at the top, I realized this mall was one incident short of a turf war. Sheesh, it’s scary here after dinner. Made a mental note to not shop alone after six in the future.
Right around the carousel I met Dylan. A real charmer. Mom, with a phone cradled between her ear and shoulder, was trying to pick out a pair of shoes–but Dylan had other things on his mind. Namely, a ride around on a cool animal. She kept asking whoever was on the line to hold on…and then the shriek came…DylllllllllllAN.
Following the fifth or sixth shriek, she came out of the store and grabbed the little hooligan by the arm. His crime? She had had it up to here (she pointed to the top of her ear–where the phone was up until a minute ago) with his crap–she couldn’t believe she made it this far in life to put up with a brat that would not allow her to complete a phone call–“I.can’t.even.talk.on.the.phone.any.more”
Lady–I wanted to say–find a better time and place to make a phone call, but I kept my mouth shut, and laughed to myself as I carried on. I had pink shorts to find–and as luck would have it I didn’t have a kid named Dylan to keep me company.
As I neared the elevator near the middle of the mall, I noticed an older gentleman in a distinct black fedora (complete with a feather–don’t even get me started regarding his faux leopard skin ascot) get on the escalator with three young ladies behind him…the gals, dressed kinda scantily, if you ask me…right down to the corked platforms on their feet, resembled paid escorts–and Fedora Frank appeared to be their pimp. I guess everyone needs new clothes–why should this crew be any different.
Finally arriving at the store with the pink shorts, I quickly found I was out of luck. Apparently they went on clearance last week and had since all been sold. And so I headed back the same route that got me to this store–and right out the door–in search of the car I parked what seemed like ages ago. I always lose the car at the mall.
I left empty handed, but not without a day’s worth of entertainment…our mall is the ultimate shopping destination–they should charge cover for the laughs it provides–at the very least they should require a two-drink minimum…I’d be on board with that. Next time, I’m not going alone–it’s more fun to have someone to laugh with.