Mall -O- Drama

Summer used to be about spending afternoons at the lake fishing or maybe working up a 24K tan at some saltwater oasis. But today, people are spoiled — very spoiled. They want aircon, aromatherapy and maybe some premium brew at McDonald’s Café (what’s that all about now?). It’s ironic that as the economy gets sh*ttier, the more human traffic there is at the golden temples of retail here in our ever-so-adventurous metropolis.

Hey I’m not bashing malling here. I love it! I stopped going to a shrink a year and a half ago, and now I just find solace at Beauty Bar, Lush, People r People, the U floor and if I’m rich enough I may even dare go and give my anemic wallet a run at 6750. The guard at the G4 entrance at Glorietta even gives me a familiar smile since we see each other every day. Powerplant is for those days I just want to eat. They have the best food court in town. However, malling is not what it used to be.

First of all, there is this ridiculous bomb search at the entrance. I have several misgivings about the procedure. I know the mall means well but with the way it’s conducted I hardly think it’s serving any purpose. I mean, who are they kidding? If somebody wanted to bomb the mall than they would just devise something inconspicuous. I can put an Afghani with a bomb in my crocheted tote bag and those suckers would probably think it’s my cell phone or Palm Pilot or my pet Chihuahua. Those metal detectors are also very annoying. I mean, the guards wave it once and, toot or no toot, they let you in. Once, a security guard in Megamall waved that hideous contraption in my boyfriend’s face. Befuddled (of course) with what just happened, he questioned what they did. I just said "Baby, it’s just because you’re the bomb!" (corny, I know). The only thing that I really like about those bomb things is when they frisk you. It’s really kinda kinky.

So, okay, you have now survived the embarrassing and useless bomb search. Now you find yourself in Antartica. Think of AC-induced temperature that is enough to cryogenically freeze you. I swear I bring moisturizer with me because the AC really does sh*t to your face (must-note beauty tip). So there you are in your Daisy Duke outfit (tank top and pussy shorts) your leg hair stubbles are now having the erection of their lives. Next problem: Where to go?

Retailing has evolved. You can now try on cosmetics and even have a face scrub in some of those posh cosmetic counters. With the exception of some stores which still follow the cro-magnon method of retailing, the salespeople have perfected the art of leaving you alone but make sure you don’t Winona Ryder your way out of the store. However there are still some that still have to update their selling strategies. There are two things that piss me off when you buy:

First is the Wala Syndrome.

Celini: (Holding cute and cheap pair of mustard pants which will probably not go with anything that I own) Miss do you have this in my size?

Miss: (In monotone Children of the Corn-ish voice) Wala.

Celini: (Puppy dog eyes and whimpering voice) Please, can you check in your other branch?

Miss: Wala.

No wonder this country is so poor.

Second is the Stalker Saleslady Syndrome:

(This is based on actual events)

Home section in department store with friend Miguel

Miguel: Do you have this bed sheet set in twin... in lilac?

Miss: No but we have queen in pink... and full in blue.

Celine: No we want lilac in twin.

Miss #2: We have lilac pillows

Miguel: I want sheets, not pillows.

Miss #3: We have all colors. What do you want again?

Miguel: Forget it.

Miss #1: We have pink in queen!

Celine: I’m getting scared.

Miguel: That’s what happens when you want cheap sheets. We’re in linen purgatory!

Misses #1,2,3: Don’t leave, we have stock. You want bed cushions?

Over-efficiency as inefficiency.

Shopping is really a sport. If you walk fast enough from Body Shop to Fuma for cigs you could burn off that Popperoo that you had for lunch. But it’s also a very expensive sport. In the mall, you may well experience having the most expensive crap/pee of your life. With 10 bucks a pop in their lounge area, you are about to indulge in the lap of luxury in a marbled and tissue-rich haven, with the scent of Glade potpurri spray wafting in the air trying to mask the Toilet Duck odor that seems to be the top-note aroma of these posh lounges. Of course, I see that these lounges try to justify their costs by giving you a ticket stub. The free bathrooms look like Somalian relief centers. Spartan would have been a generous adjective to descibe these tiled and chlorinated waterworlds. The sinks are so disgusting that you feel that if you wash your hands in them you’ll even get more germs. The toilets, of course, with their decrepit looks seem to make your germs of nature (i.e. waste) look chic in comparison. Those vendo machines are also really strange. I once saw a vendo machine in a toilet selling peanuts — no kidding!

Another shopping nightmare is the flatliner ATM. Fifty percent of ATMs in the mall are dead. The functioning ones are usually in the shady parts of the mall — you know, places where they sell stolen gadgets and pirated DVDs. Of course, these places only accept cash!

I could go and on about my scenes from the mall, but they do have a soft (very soft) spot in my heart. In moments of loneliness and sorrow, all I have to do is walk in some store and buy something that I absolutely have no use for whatsoever — and come out feeling like a winner.