I'm an anomaly. I'm a woman, yes. I know this to be true. Just have to trust me on that one. But there is one thing that women are supposed to like that I just cannot stand. I hate the S-word. No, not that S-word. I mean shopping. In my frugal years, I thought I hated shopping because I did not like to spend money on items that I felt were over-priced. Now older and with a more lucrative job, I still don't like to part with money, but there's got to be something more to this. A recent trip to the closest shopping mall, in the midst of the fiery throngs of Suburbia, USA, enlightened my XX mind. And that's chromosomes. Stay focused!
I conceded to this recent trip after a fierce negotiation with my husband (we are the married equivalent of a Union Boss and "The Suit"....not sure who's whom), who desperately wanted to go to the Apple store, but did not want to abandon me on our only day off together. Before I go any further, I must say right here and now, even as I type this on my MacBook Pro, that I hate the Apple store even more than shopping itself. This place is the epitome of sensory overload. First, there's the table of iPad 2's waiting to greet you as you come in the door. There they are--all arranged neatly around a rectangular double wide counter like a committee in a boardroom. Just waiting to ask you why you haven't bought one yet, much like your committee would drag you into the boardroom just to ask why you are still a bonehead loser after all these years. So, I've got instant panic attack right off the bat. Along the walls, are all the wonderful iPods and iPhones, each with their own microbiome, after having been fondled by every technogeek in the surrounding metro area. Couple this with the glaring overhead lights (why do they have to have a computer store lit up so brightly?), the excessive chatter of a flood of customers, my husband repeatedly saying "come here and look at this", and having been asked if I need help 10 times in 2 minutes, and my brain is ready to resort to its back up generator to keep up with the power demand. Tack on the disruption of my proprioception from bumping into all these warm bodies, and it might as well just go ahead and explode.
Now expand that little diorama to the entire mall and my thalamus is literally telling the rest of my body, "Hey, stop sending signals! We're all filled up here!" But it doesn't end there. For, upon exiting the mad, mad, mad, mad world of the Apple store, you enter the mad, mad, mad, mad, mad world of the mall hallways. One of the mainstays of the mallway, and one that I try to avoid at all costs, is the flyer-hander-outer. You know this person--smiley, staring right at you, gauging your stride, trying to get a sense of whether you will go right or left so as to jump in front of you and drop the standard line, "May I interest you in......?" Now your brain is telling your mind to look away. Please, look away! Don't look into her eyes! No! Crap! Too late! Before you know it, you have a flyer in hand and gave away your cell number. Not two seconds later comes the first robotext. Back to the Apple store to change your plan and reload your senses.
Next, you pass the food court, where you can take your pick of the coronary artery disease special at the steak sandwich place, the diabetic coma at the cookie place, or the gall bladder attack, which can be purchased at any of the mallfood counters. It is also here will you will encounter the inevitable baby screech. You know the sound I'm talking about. One octave higher and only dogs would be able to hear this sound. I'm always amazed by this sound, as it seems to be universal among children aged 2 and under. We might be a diverse planet, but we at least share the same sky, same stars, same sun, and same tympanic membrane splitting howl of babies in a shopping mall.
By now, you might be wondering, "Well, is it malls that she doesn't like, or just people?" I assure you, I'm a people person. I'm the most social person I know. Can't you tell by the way I spend my Saturday afternoon typing blogposts, alone, in my kitchen? I assure you, it is not people in general that drives my hatred of shopping. People are just the source of the side effects of shopping. They know not what they do to my senses. They are just exercising their inalienable right to gather in a large, one to three story building, planked down in the middle of Suburbia, USA, where a tall grass prairie or natural wetland once stood. I cannot blame the people. I can only blame the mall. With that, I will venture out into the final annoyance that is the 30 minute meander through the unlabeled parking lot in an effort to find my car.
I conceded to this recent trip after a fierce negotiation with my husband (we are the married equivalent of a Union Boss and "The Suit"....not sure who's whom), who desperately wanted to go to the Apple store, but did not want to abandon me on our only day off together. Before I go any further, I must say right here and now, even as I type this on my MacBook Pro, that I hate the Apple store even more than shopping itself. This place is the epitome of sensory overload. First, there's the table of iPad 2's waiting to greet you as you come in the door. There they are--all arranged neatly around a rectangular double wide counter like a committee in a boardroom. Just waiting to ask you why you haven't bought one yet, much like your committee would drag you into the boardroom just to ask why you are still a bonehead loser after all these years. So, I've got instant panic attack right off the bat. Along the walls, are all the wonderful iPods and iPhones, each with their own microbiome, after having been fondled by every technogeek in the surrounding metro area. Couple this with the glaring overhead lights (why do they have to have a computer store lit up so brightly?), the excessive chatter of a flood of customers, my husband repeatedly saying "come here and look at this", and having been asked if I need help 10 times in 2 minutes, and my brain is ready to resort to its back up generator to keep up with the power demand. Tack on the disruption of my proprioception from bumping into all these warm bodies, and it might as well just go ahead and explode.
Now expand that little diorama to the entire mall and my thalamus is literally telling the rest of my body, "Hey, stop sending signals! We're all filled up here!" But it doesn't end there. For, upon exiting the mad, mad, mad, mad world of the Apple store, you enter the mad, mad, mad, mad, mad world of the mall hallways. One of the mainstays of the mallway, and one that I try to avoid at all costs, is the flyer-hander-outer. You know this person--smiley, staring right at you, gauging your stride, trying to get a sense of whether you will go right or left so as to jump in front of you and drop the standard line, "May I interest you in......?" Now your brain is telling your mind to look away. Please, look away! Don't look into her eyes! No! Crap! Too late! Before you know it, you have a flyer in hand and gave away your cell number. Not two seconds later comes the first robotext. Back to the Apple store to change your plan and reload your senses.
Next, you pass the food court, where you can take your pick of the coronary artery disease special at the steak sandwich place, the diabetic coma at the cookie place, or the gall bladder attack, which can be purchased at any of the mallfood counters. It is also here will you will encounter the inevitable baby screech. You know the sound I'm talking about. One octave higher and only dogs would be able to hear this sound. I'm always amazed by this sound, as it seems to be universal among children aged 2 and under. We might be a diverse planet, but we at least share the same sky, same stars, same sun, and same tympanic membrane splitting howl of babies in a shopping mall.
By now, you might be wondering, "Well, is it malls that she doesn't like, or just people?" I assure you, I'm a people person. I'm the most social person I know. Can't you tell by the way I spend my Saturday afternoon typing blogposts, alone, in my kitchen? I assure you, it is not people in general that drives my hatred of shopping. People are just the source of the side effects of shopping. They know not what they do to my senses. They are just exercising their inalienable right to gather in a large, one to three story building, planked down in the middle of Suburbia, USA, where a tall grass prairie or natural wetland once stood. I cannot blame the people. I can only blame the mall. With that, I will venture out into the final annoyance that is the 30 minute meander through the unlabeled parking lot in an effort to find my car.
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