"I live in Bloomington," I tell people. If they're not from the Twin Cities or Minnesota or even the United States, their brows may furrow. But their faces always clear when I say, "You know. The Mall of America. We live near the Mall of America."
It's popular. I have had friends and family visit whose central aim is to shop there. My home and hospitality run a poor second to an indoor roller coaster, Legoland, and every store they don't have near their homes. I suppose it's a little like living near the pyramids or Mount Everest. But I don't mind. As long as they don't make me come with them.
My kids used to go to school near the mall, and one of their teachers continuously railed against the soul-sucking evil of the place. But that man turned out to be highly susceptible to evil himself. He became head of the school, abused his power to purge those who questioned his authority, and replaced them with loyal family members. So, perhaps his views can be discounted. Or perhaps it was the mall that led him astray.
When my sisters came to town last week and wanted to go to the mall, I was surprised to hear myself say, "I need to do some shopping. I'll go with you."
It's changed a lot. Many years ago, when the amusement park was called Camp Snoopy, and my kids played with legos, I used to go there once in a while. After all, winter in Minnesota is very cold and long, and it was worth the risk of a little soul-sucking evil to tire them out without having to put four kids in snow pants, boots, hats, mittens and jackets. Last week, I wasn't even sure how to get to the parking ramps. The exits looked different. There were hotels in the way.
When I stepped into the entrance, it all came flooding back. The never ending windowless hallways filled with florescent lighting that failed to completely conquer the darkness. The weight of it all. The ricocheting energy of so many people.
The noise. It was the noise that made me want to turn around and leave. I was immediately transported to the time we took out-of-town guests to the mall, and I got a terrible migraine. There is nothing worse that an indoor amusement park for a throbbing head. But I was on a mission. I needed to meet my sisters and get the job done.
I looked around to get my bearings. To my left, I saw a sign on a plain metal door. It was the name of the school where I work. I knew we had offered English classes at the mall for employees and nearby residents, but that program had been discontinued a couple of years ago. I was surprised to see the sign still up. I turned to my right. Victoria's Secret. The window was filled with a huge photo of a woman in lace panties. It must have been culture shock for some of the new immigrants coming to learn English.
Once I figured out where I was, I began to walk. Verbs flew at me from every store I passed. Need! Want! Save! My determination wavered. I knew what I was there for, but what if I really needed something else, too? Something I hadn't thought of. Something that I would regret not buying. Something—God forbid—that I would need to come back for. And it would be on sale. A good deal. Before I knew it, I would be browsing. I would be buying. I would be weighed down with shopping bags.
But my sisters know me. By the time I met up with them, they had already zeroed in on where I needed to go. They had even done initial reconnaissance. They enlisted a sales person to help with the specifics, and I bought nearly everything she suggested with the credit card I opened at the store.
The next time I drive by the mall, I'm going to step harder on the gas. It's a very dangerous place.
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