I hate going to the mall, but sometimes, the call is too hard to ignore. Especially when the call is 75% off and I’m told every night on the news that if I personally don’t get out and do my part to save the retail industry, the burden of the recession will be on my shoulders.
So the day after Christmas (which, by the way, is also the day after Jimmy Buffet’s birthday), I headed down to J.C. Penney’s to pick up a few items for gifts for next year’s Buffetmas. (Please don’t hate me because I am one of those people who plan and shop ahead. It’s a genetic disorder.)
There are many reasons I don’t like the mall, but foremost among them is the temperature. In the winter months, every store seems to set their thermostat on “Phoenix” and as a hot-flashing woman, the minute I walk in I have to start my striptease. Off comes the hat and gloves, which are then stuffed into the pockets of my imitation down-filled parka. Then I untie the scarf from around my neck and set it temporarily aside so I can rip my jacket off before I reach nuclear meltdown. The jacket, of course is too bulky to carry without knocking over small children, so I tie it around my waist with my scarf. I’m still sweating, but at least it’s confined to my mid-section. Then I unzip my sweater as low as common decency allows and roll my pants legs up to my knees. I strip off my socks and put them in my purse, making sure the video camera operators see me take them off, so they will know I didn’t steal them. On my way out of the store, I get to put on the whole show in reverse.
Yep, I’m a thing of beauty to behold at the mall.
Lately, however, my mall shopping concerns have doubled because I believe I’ve developed Mallzheimer’s disease. No matter where I park my car, I can never remember where it is when I’m done shopping. Sometimes I can’t even remember what car I drove – and I only have the one. But I’ll flash back to cars I’ve previously owned in my life and in my desperation to find anything that looks vaguely familiar, I’ll find myself trying my 2004 Toyota Camry key in a green 1992 Honda Accord despite the fact that it has a child seat in the back and an NRA bumper sticker. Or worse yet, a red 1977 Ford pick-up that resembles one I once hitchhiked in during college.
I have no recourse but to stand in the doorway of the mall as the stores close, munching on a soft pretzel to keep my strength up, as all the other shoppers find their cars and leave. It’s not until the parking lot is three-quarters cleared out that I usually “remember” where I’ve parked and can rewrap myself in my winter outerwear, dash through the rain, and finally head home.
Unfortunately, I did the math last week. I spent $43 on items that had originally cost $171, which by the store’s calculations is 75% off. But my quick stop at the store ended up lasting five hours, which at my usual hourly rate of $50 (I’m self-employed, so I have a usual hourly rate) cost me $250, or $225 if you factor in the break for buying and eating the pretzel. Add the $43 I spent plus the $225 it cost in my time and subtract my savings of $171 and my trip to the mall cost me $97.
Hot flashes, memory loss and bankruptcy at the mall. I think next time I’ll pass.
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