Randomly Found Handwritten Mall Ponderings

(From when I had a job.)

The mall is such a place where you can sit and view all sorts of different people who reside in your town. There are the old people and old couples who probably live in dimly lit houses with faded yellow or beige drapes with cozy couches and one very old TV set. They are always sweet. The women generally pulling the men, the men are always willing to stop and talk.

There's the South Hill or Indian Trail mom's hustling around, their hands full of shopping bags, seeking directions to the Bon or the Gap, never bothering to say, "Thank you." to my friendly response.

There are the mom's fed up with their three whining children who she had way too young. She'll give into their pleas of candy just to shut them up for five precious moments of silence.

A never-ending cycle.

The hipsters, the white trash.. But most of all, there are the kids. They are the worst.

The girls whose pants are so low you can almost peak at their underdeveloped 12 year old 'parts', which are barely covered by a skimpy thong, and jeans.

The fat girls with their fat stomachs pushing out under their too small jeans and too short halter tops. And they all pile the makeup on by the gallon. There's the wannabe gangsters, talking about all the 'bitches' they're going to get.

Then there's me, whose mall employment gives me all the opportunities I desire to silently judge.