The Mall

There’s nothing quite as intimidating as the mall. Inside its walls is a culture that is foreign to some, and practically alien to me. It is a land of teenagers and parents; money pits and money trees. You see kids not old enough to drive blabbing away on cell phones, wearing the newest fashions from GAP and Old Navy, walking in their little groups of three or four. No doubt their day started with, “Hey, wanna go to the mall?”

For me, it’s like being in another country. Scratch that…another planet. It occurred to me that I feel more comfortable in a Mongolian holding cell on a wire bed than in a mall swarming with judgmental teens. And it’s not even that judgemental part that bothers me, but rather the message that the mall seems to embody: Kids, bring your parents and convince them how much you need something (even when you really don’t). Or better yet, have your parents give you money to spend on useless crap.

It’s quite obvious that the mall doesn’t cater to people like me – poor college students without a desire to be trendy, as it were, or parents with unlimited credit. Give me an Indian bazaar or Mongolian market any day.