Bastion of Freaks

So yesterday I had to once again venture out into the greater public realm. For me this meant a little jaunt to the Mall of Acadiana. Let me just say that being a poor grad student really puts a damper on going to the mall. Since I am no longer able to indulge in rampant American consumerism, I am forced to notice all the freakish things and people associated with the typical mall experience. Here's the rundown of my adventure.

First, I had to get there. Here's a shout out and kudos to the Lafayette City Parish government for the new speed vans around town. Seemingly, this has had an impact. This is predicated by the fact that there's a new phenomenon- people driving anywhere from 10 to 20 miles slower than the posted speed limit. This might be cool, except for the a**holes like me who actually want to travese our sub-par thoroughfares at the legally prescribed speed. Yes, I am that jerk who is tailgating you. Kindly get the hell out of the way.

Once I arrived at the mall, I had to brave abercrombie, the kids' clothing store, so as to procure a gift certificate for my beloved niece, Queen Emily. I have many issues with this joint, beginning with the blatant lack of respect for the English language evidenced by the lowercase first letter in the store's name. Secondly, it's too friggin' loud. Turn down the damn music so I can think. Thirdly, the stench is overpowering. The moment I walk into this place, I get an instant headache from olfactory overload. I don't understand how they keep the constant, offensively overwhelming scent of cologne in the air. They must be piping it in with the AC. At abercrombie, I had to interrupt a tete-a-tete going on between the teenaged employees. They were busy feeling up the new peircing of some guy who had apparently decided that the idea of installing a barbell on the back of his neck was just grand. I was considering doing the exact same thing just last week but fears of long delays at airport security stayed me. Just think, we could've had matching back-of-neck ware. How fun! They were not happy to see me, but eventually one of them slunk over to earn their salary by actually waiting on me, the customer. Then I hauled *ss as I was dangerously close to passing out what with the bleeding from my ears and the migrane pulsating at my temples.

Off I went to Dillard's. I had gone as long as I could without resupplying my foundation from Clinique, even going so far as to cut open the container and wipe out the insides in order to avoid this trip. On the way to Dillard's, I had to pass by Auntie Anne's Pretzels. (Sidenote: The sour cream and onion pretzels rock!) Somehow, I don't think Auntie Anne's company policy endorses blaring "Solja Boy" at the general public while the employees flirt with the overweight rent-a-cop. Me thinks auntie might lay the smack down if she got a gander at that.

Finally, I arrived at Dillard's. Once again, I encountered two employees engaged in conversation. There was an older woman, I'm guessing mid-50s, animatedly boring to death a twenty-something girl with the details of a TV program the older of the two Clinique technicans had seen about a man who poisons his wife with arsenic. How do I know this? Because when I interrupted their conversation, the twenty-something ran for dear life, and I had the pleasure of taking her place. All I could think of, as my 5 minute purchase turned into a 20 minute expedition, was how I would ever be able to gracefully extricate myself from this "conversation." Along the way, she tried to get me to sign up for a Dillard's bonus card. She did a really hard sell, going so far as to say, "Are you sure you don't want it? Because I get two dollars on my paycheck for everyone I sign up." I have to endure guilt at the mall? Really, lady? After securing my makeup, I had to do that weird "side step slowly away because I really need to leave before I am bored into a coma, but this person won't shut the hell up" manuever. Eventually, I just yelled out, "Uh-huh! Well, thanks again! Bye!" and fled as fast as my little tootsies could carry me.

Then it was on to The Great American Cookie Company to pick up some yummies for my friend Greg. Greg is one of those people to whom I cannot say no. Hence, the cookie counter where I was not so promptly greeted by perhaps the most disgruntled of teenaged employees ever...like, in the history of the world ever. Our encounter went something like this:
Apathetic teenager (looking totally put out): May I help you, you dumb b***h?
Me: May I please have two of your chocolate chip cookies?
Apathetic teenager (glaring at me with flat eyes): Jesus f***in' Christ, I hate this g***amn job, but I hate you more, you dumb b***h! (Hands me the cookies) Three dollars.
Me: Okay, here ya go! Thanks so much!
Apathetic teenager (staring at me with vaguely concealed contempt):F**k you, you dumb b***h! (Turns and walks away).

Okay, so she didn't really say any of the stuff in italics, but I know that's what she was thinking. Contrary to her (and possibly other people's) belief, I am not a dumb b***h.

Then I double-timed it out of there, so I could to tend to my wounds. And I'm NOT going back for that damn eyeliner I forgot either! Hope all of my fav peeps (that's you!) are having a stellar week! Keep on, keepin' on!