Uninspired

I FELT LIKE A POLAR bear on melting sea ice. With each pedal of my bicycle the frozen ground beneath me cracked, giving way to slush and muddy water. I bumped along down the trail, jostling with the laws of friction in a battle to keep right-side-up.

I was headed, of all places, to the mall. My vision insurance would be expiring soon and so I had made an appointment with the local Lenscrafters to get a check-up — I had two options for locations, both in malls, so I chose the less dingy of the two.

I arrived, and after searching for a while came upon what appeared to be the only bike rack outside the entire expanse of the shopping center (it was empty, neglected). In the back of the Lenscrafters I filled out some new patient forms, and then was moved between various stations where I got puffs of air shot into my eyeballs and was patiently interrogated: “Number one? Or number two? And number three, or number four?”

Following my exam, I was told that if I wanted new lenses I would have to wait. Had I brought any spare glasses? Sure, with a four year-old prescription. “Great,” the man said to me, “come back in an hour.” And so there I was. Alone, left to wander a blurry, headache-inducing mall.

I tried to stare at my feet as I left the store. It hurt my eyes less.

Roaming the softly-lit, kiosk-clogged temple of chain-store goods, I felt like I was in a place where time and space were not relevant. The layout of the mall felt eerily familiar. The kids wandering about dressed the same as when I was in high school, only more magnified in their personas. Pre-pubescent girls wore shorter skirts. Hot Topic had somehow become even more ridiculous.

I sat down in a poor excuse for a communal space — overstuffed, mismatching couches and chairs assembled in a square. An old couple sipping drinks from the nearby Gloria Jean’s Coffee shot me disapproving looks. Otherwise, nobody looked at each other.

Everything about the mall — the architecture, the stores, the lighting — felt cheap, replicated, plastic, like the majority of suburban infrastructure consuming our country. I had spent many a bored hour wandering uninspired (and uninspiring) spaces like these in my youth, without a second thought. But now I wondered about the quality of life this afforded. Why were we, the people of United States, allowing ourselves to be sold short?

The words of travel writer Stephanie Elizondo Griest came to me: “I’m the kind of person who wants to get their funky jewelry from its country of origin, not from some stand in the mall.” I was surrounded by a den of artificiality, of faked expression. I thought about the fact that there were hundreds of similar malls all around the country (many owned by the same company). It seemed evidence enough that we’d lost touch with the value of originality, of experience, of creating environments with character.

As I went to go pick up my glasses, I noticed a sign outside where a new shoe store was about to open. It read:

The shoes you wear say a lot about you. Your style speaks louder than words. You can find it here, shout it out there. Choose your voice and make some noise.”

I laughed, I cringed.

Photo: mall, by Maproom Systems. saginaw, mich.

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