I wrote this when I was in 8th grade, so roughly 13 or 14. I have no idea what assignment it was for, but it must have been for something, because this isn't the type of thing I'm likely to just write on my own. Anyway I thought it was interesting how cynical I was, even then, and especially for someone so young. Anyway, enjoy... or something...
Shopping!
Have you ever gone to a big department store? Like Filene's, for instance. I'm sure we all have, but who needs all the trouble we have to go to get there?
First you have to bundle up the kids, pack the baby toys and diapers, grab your purse, and shuffle all the kids around so Susie's not sitting next to Bobby and Bobby's not next to Jane, because then World War III is liable to come forth. Once that has been achieved, you have to drive to the mall, a trip in and of itself.
Despite all your meticulous planning, by the time you reach the mall, Bobby is threatening to rip out Susie's long blonde hair, Jane is screaming, and the baby has soaked the car seat. As you cruise around the parking lot, looking for a spot to park, several people cut you off for spaces that you had your directional on for. They do not improve your mood. By the time an elderly gentleman cut you off with more accuracy and speed than an Indy 500 driver, your vocabulary has increased so much that your children are cheering you on, forgetting about their argument.
When you finally find a space three blocks from your house, you are grumbling that the sales had better be worth the trouble. Hiking inside the store with your four whining children in tow, you head directly to where the items you are looking for should be in hopes of making a quick entrance and exit.
No such luck.
First you can't find the cologne you need for your husband's birthday, and no salespeople are behind the counter. Ringing the bell brings you no one. As you and the children walked by, however, seemingly invisible salespeople spray you with so many different perfumes that by the time you reach the escalator, you and the children smell like a mixture between an Amazon rainforest and a wilting greenhouse. The children are screaming and trying to wipe the scents off on each other.
Then you can't find the shirts for the kids. This time, however, you find an eighteen year old
gum chewing salesboy who helps you find the department he thinks you want.
Twenty seconds after he leaves, you discover that in fact this is not the department you're looking for, but actually women's lingerie. You make the children cover their eyes as they walk through the isle.
Three hours later you think you have everything you need and begin to browse through the store. All of a sudden thirty salespeople appear out of nowhere, asking you if you need help. "No thank you," you reply politely.
Their faces drop in unison. "Oh," they say softly. You feel awful, so to make them (and yourself) feel better, you buy $300 worth of junk you don't need. Well, at least you put a smile on their face.
Just as you decide you've been there long enough, Susie has to go to the bathroom. "Real bad, Mom," she says. "Real bad."
Then Bobby complains (loudly) that he is hungry and wakes up the sleeping baby, who promptly begins to cry. Jane decides the shades on display looks neat, and knocks them all over, bringing fifty security guards who scrutinize you carefully before letting you leave.
At the bathroom, you herd all four into the handicap stall with you so you know where they all are. As you are leaving the bathroom, Bobby runs into the food court and runs down an old lady. You and the other three kids chase him, knocking over the same lady and another bald gentleman.
At last you assemble everyone and make it to the car with all your packages and children, only to be greeted at home with four unanimous voices: "What's for dinner?"
-sulkingblackstar-
