The Evil Place A.K.A. The Shopping Mall

I made the best (note the sarcasm) decision of my week this morning when I decided to go to the local shopping centre.

Yes it is a Saturday. Yes there are only 52 days til Christmas. And yet I thought, somehow, it would be a great idea to go to the evil place, also known as the Shopping Mall.

Why is it evil? We are influenced in these places to think we want stuff, that we want to spend our money for that stuff, and we are pushed to destroy any other members of the human race who dare get in our way. Look at how people behave when they are there. It's akin to the changes in a person's psychological machinations and expressions when they get behind the wheel of a car. Add some chatter, some shiny floors, the gag-inducing stench of fast food in the air, a few flashes of deals and sales on offer, and people en masse are driven to a frenzy.

Madness!

People exhibit exaggerated ruthlessness, rudeness and raucous, ructious rivalry (excuse the alliteration, I've had a lot of coffee today and tend to get carried away).

Families with 2 million children present themselves as oblivious that other members of the public might want to explore the shopping centre. Perhaps those of us who know what we want, and desire to get in, collect our items, and get out, don't really want to have to trip over and dance around the trillions of offspring breeders insist on having. The Mall is not to be encouraged as a place of entertainment, to fill time for the time-poor, non-creative parents who keep popping out more children. Really! A buggy, 3 seats wide! And you're dilly-dallying. Let's hustle people. And I'll buy you the condoms. Just stop!

Everywhere there are people...they won't move out of your way, or in some cases, simply stop and refuse to move - at all.

I completely understand why those who have even the most mildest form of an anxiety disorder can end up having a panic attack in a place like that. Too many people. Not enough space. You can't breathe. Every path you decide on, through the masses, gets blocked. You are thwarted at every turn.

These places are staffed by people who are paid not very much. And, especially on the weekend, there is a high chance you will be faced with "young people", who are all assholes nowadays (manners are so last century), who don't want to be there. They have little to no interpersonal skills. They often have troubled constructing a whole sentence and any question you ask them is responded to with " Uh...I dunno..."

So, catching my breath, I'm sure you want to know why I went at all.

Weights.

It felt more important pre-shopping journey, I can tell you that.

And the kid who served me? Yup. He was an asshole. I placed my weights on the counter. He drank from his water bottle. There was a definite pause. Then he scanned my weights. Then another drink from his water bottle. I'm standing there, waiting for...anything. I get...something.

"59".

This, if you are as sharp as me, is clearly the cost. But I have memories of a teacher at school who, in a discussion of problem solving, would insist on you defining units. He would ask, in this situation, "59 what? 59 bananas?"

I'm left to assume it's dollars we are talking about. I slide my card into the little, magical pay machine. I type my number in, like every other sheep (of course I mean consumer) and a receipt is produced.

I say "Thank you" as it is handed to me.

The kid, I swear, says nothing. "59" is the fucking limit of his vocabulary. Oh wait, did I mention he took another drink from his water bottle? Well he did. Perhaps it's a training program for morons. Substitute hydration for "using your words" when you have no words left in your vocabulary to use. He couldn't have looked more bored if he tried. He was doing me a favour just by coming into work today.

Asshole!

Anyway.

I was itching to get out the house. I haven't done much for a couple of days, with my doctor asking me to stay off my feet. And so no exercise. Before my lump and bruise I had been getting into the swing of exercise and was really enjoying moving my body, getting it stronger and fitter. Two days of rest and I feel like I could climb up a wall.

I had struck on the idea that although I have a gym membership, if I had little time for a real workout I could do 20 mins or so with some weights. I really want to work on my tone, and my arms could do with some building up.

I now have my weights and am glad to be at home, safe from the crowds. But now I'm too tired to use the weights, what with the trauma of the day being a tad too much for me.

I actually am pretty tired. My doctor (I had another appointment today) has asked me to take a second course of antibiotics. I think these might be making me extra tired, but I'll stick with it. She also wants me to attend for an ultrasound of my lump, just to check it isn't anything more sinister. Lovely.

I hope your weekend is better than mine.

Life is just so hard sometimes...