Making Nothing Interesting

A trip to the mall


My day started off as most of my days off do. Waking up with a small headache as I have forced myself to sleep in has become routine because, well, it's my day off. I meandered out of my bedroom to become familiar with my day. As I turned into the front room I am greeted with my daughter looking up at me smiling, proud and aware of her accomplishment, "Daddy, glasses, broken." She then laughs and turns back to Sesame Street on the T.V. After all, this really means nothing to her, it has no importance or significance.
To me however this is catastrophic. I cannot read, cannot drive, and cannot see clearly anything without these meaningless things (as she would see it). I scheduled an appointment at Lens Crafters (which was once D.O.C but Mr. Golden decided selling out was the best option) to get this problem rectified. 12:40. Shit, I gotta go. I placed my broken glasses on my face, which now rest comfortably at a 45 degree angle over my nose to enable me to see as I drive to the mall, Lakeside Mall, ah the memories.
After the formalities at the Lens Crafters it is explained that my glasses can be made "right away" meaning about 2 to 3 hours. I have this time to "enjoy" shopping at the mall. My decision is made quite quickly as to what I would do with this time...bookstore...coffee, a prescription that is familiar as well as enjoyable. Of course, I cannot see more than three feet in front of me and I have no idea where the bookstore is. I cannot use the directory because that makes you look stupid or foreign to this atmosphere, so I begin to just walk around. This experience is odd, I can't see anyone's face, all the people look like nobody, they have no characterization other then "people" period. They are all ugly or beautiful I can't tell. Everyone is walking around talking to themselves, probably on their wireless, handless, untiless cell phones but I can't tell that, I just decide their all crazy and walking around like schizos mumbling obscenities to God or whoever did them wrong in the past. Whatever, this idea is funny so i'm going with it. I still can't find the frigging bookstore. I'll use the directory now, I sure as hell am not going to ask anyone.

Waldenbooks, ah nice. Wait, where is the "books"? Romance, Sci-Fi, Children's, Magazines...no books. I stumble onto the clearance rack but I can't see shit! I pull my mangled, glasses out of my pocket so I can see what lies ahead of me. Vonnegut, Slaughter House-Five...50% off. This rack is filled with Wilde, Steinbeck, Shakespeare all 50% off. I can pay full price for some romance novel or seventeen magazine but the good stuff is 50% off. I buy Slaughter House Five of course, after all, somebody is currently making me glasses, that's why I'm here. Irony, not really, but I love it all the same.

As I approach the counter, glasses cocked over my nose, the clerk looks at my selection and smirks..."you a fan?" This question is probably because this is the first "book" he's sold all day. "yup, thanks" He wants to discuss with me his favorites by this and other others but frankly, I dont really care. I walk out to find a coffee, somewhere. He looks deflated, I think, "enjoy selling your wall of Stephen King and Rolling Stone's dumb ass...I gots to gets a coffee." I laugh, out loud accidentally, the people around me stare at the crazy broken glasses wearing guy walking out the bookstore and I remove the glasses from my face. Back to my trip, not acid this time, just bad eye sight.

Panera Bread...coffee...good. I walk up to the counter and ask for a coffee. "What kind?" I restate coffee and she looks discouragingly and hands me a mug. After deciding which flavored coffee would taste the most like actual coffee, I venture to find a place to sit. I find a table between some chick who is taking up a whole table with her shopping bags and Mr. and Mrs. Mothball, at least that s what I smell. I hate frigging mothball stink, but its the only table.
Once again I assume the role of "crazy guy at the mall" as I place my glasses atop of my nose. The more I wear them the more I think the angle against my nose is increasing, it feels like I'm wearing them upside down. The manager asks me what I'm reading, I show him the cover and he responds by walking away, saying nothing at all. Pleasant chatting with you I think, but whatever. I drink two cups of coffee and read about 50 pages before I have to leave because of the horrible jazz music that is bleeding out of the ceiling. I love jazz music but this was no Coltrane or Miles, it may have actually been Kenny G. but I think all jazz that sounds this way is Kenny G. Time to smoke...
On my way outside I see a table with four instant lottery tickets and four pennies on it. Apparently the person who bought these tickets was so angry at the pennies for "making them lose" they just left them there. I picked up one of the pennies and bought a ticket from some pissed off lady at the counter, I won two bucks. I bought a Frappachino and pocketed the change including the penny that I swiped from the abandoned pile of misfortune, after all, you make your own luck. I went outside to smoke. I watched the parade of parents dropping off their 13 year old girls at the mall, after all it's summer break.
While I was outside the birch tree above me was dropping something down, continuously on my head, I could not see what it was without my glasses but I didn't really care. Some Emo, Goth, chick who works at the mall came outside to smoke, she looked miserable, but I think that was on purpose. I think she smiled at me but I couldn't tell.

Now the conclusion. My time of waiting has passed, my glasses were finished. As I sit having them "fitted" properly on my face the Optomoligist stopped and picked up my book, "is this yours?" he asked, as thought it could have been someone else around me, although there was no one else around me. "yes" I said. "You know, its about an optomoligist?"
"yes, it is.".................................................................................................... RIP Vonnegut THE END