Bail Me Out, Mom

I am at Best Buy electronics browsing all the gadgets I cannot afford. I'm amazed at the ingenuity on display here; everything is smaller, better, faster, cooler. I remember when my first cell phone weighed about one pound. Now, a few ounces in your palm becomes your second brain.

I take my philosophical thoughts and walk to the video game area. I have wanted to get involved in gaming for a while, but am afraid of addiction. Many of my coworkers are World of Warcraft players and well, let's just say they are fully immersed in their online world and have constant cases of red eye.

The aisle buzzes with shoppers. Two young boys play an X-Box game on a system display at the aisle's end. Their eyes bulge with adrenaline. "Yeah!" says one as the other's car flips off the track in a ball of flames. Another young boy stands behind the two, watching a new race begin. Hands in pockets, eyes transfixed on the monitor, his body jerks slightly left and right as the players navigate the turns of the race track.

A bit later, the boy joins his mother in the gaming aisle. He is perhaps eight or nine. His large brown eyes behind small glasses scan the aisle offerings. He bounces from one product to another, running back to his mother with reviews of each discovery.

Eventually, he stops next to me at the Nintendo Wii display. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him look me over:

Him: Are you getting this?
Me: No, just looking. Cool, isn't it?
Him: Really cool. It's the best one. But it costs a lot. See?
The boy points to the price, nearly $300.
Him: It's sold out online. My Dad said. So you have to get it here. In the store.

His mother calls him back. "Sorry," she says to me. No problem, I tell her, and compliment her son's product knowledge. A few moments later, when his mother is ready to leave:

Son: Mom, the Wiis are gonna be all gone really fast. We should get one now, before they're ALL GONE.
Mom: Nice try, honey. The store has more. We're not buying anything tonight, remember? Just looking.
Son: But it's important! I need this. It's the only thing on my Christmas list.
Mom: Well, yeah, it better be. It's a lot of money. Just wait and see what Christmas brings, okay?

The boy sighs deeply, spins around and jams his hands into his pockets. He again approaches the Wii display and touches the price tag with one finger. As his mother passes behind me, he grabs her arm with urgency:

Son: Mom! Wait! Maybe you could bail me out.
Mom: What? What do you mean?
Son: You know, bail me out, like on TV for banks. But instead for Wii.
Mom: Oh my god. Michael, that's for big businesses that are going to close if they don't get money to help.
Son: Well, why can't I get money to help?
Mom: Michael! Stop it. It doesn't work like that. Just wait and see what Christmas brings.
Son: Well, it's not fair. I'm gonna write a letter.
Mom: Who are you going to write?
Son: The president of the United States. He is getting his kids a new puppy and he will understand why I need a Wii.

Fried Chicken in the White House

I've come to the mall against my better judgment. I promise myself to restrict spending to my loot of holiday gift cards and enter Macy's department store, wide-eyed. I've purposely arrived in the early afternoon on a week day to avoid crowds. Stumbling into a completely empty dressing room with an armful of clothing, I'm very pleased with myself.

I choose the corner stall in the back because it's big enough for my own private fashion show; I don't much like twirling in front of the paneled community mirror. A small flat screen TV is on the wall close to the entrance. The volume is a little high and Wolf Blitzer's voice booms from the CNN channel. In between two pairs of jeans (on sale!) CNN cuts to clips of the recent heated debate between Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama.

Two female voices enter the dressing room. They talk to each other as friends do. One says how happy she'll be if the jeans fit. The ladies choose stalls midway down the row. Two doors open and close. Hangers clink and conversation continues:

Friend 1: It's great shopping this way! No kids hanging off us. No crowds!

Friend 2: Yeah. Look at this! We have it all to ourselves!

(I freeze, jeans in hand)

Friend 1: We should take a day off every month for shopping.

Friend 2: Definitely. Oooooh...I love these -

(Barack quips about Bill Clinton. Hillary snaps back at Barack.)

Friend 2: Oh god. Again. If I have to hear this one more time...

Friend 1: Ugh! Can you believe him? How he picks at her? Like a little chicken.

Friend 2: Yeah. Pick, pick picaaaw! Hahaha!

Friend 1: Can you imagine him president? What are they gonna serve at White House dinners? Fried chicken? Grits?

Friend 2: Ha! Yeah! And he'll make us pay the Blacks restitution for slavery -

Friend 1: Uh, we already do that. It's called welfare.

Piercing Pain

Warning: This Post is Rated "R"

I trudge to the mall to buy a gift card for a friend's teen daughter from her favorite clothing store called "Forever 21". Funny, I still feel like I'm in my 20s (I am not), so the store's name sits right with me. Browsing the clothes, I'm struck by how incredibly small everything is; the skirts are maybe one foot long, the jeans about the width of my arm, the tops fall off hangers at the slightest nudge. Their stringy straps don't hold. It's official. I no longer dwell in the blissful decade of carefree styles and fashion magazines. I'm all grown up.

Young girls' chatter brings me back from my reverie. Two teenagers pour themselves into a selection of doll-sized furry jackets the next rack over. Black, pink, baby blue and white jackets form a tight ring and the girls try on each color. They look high school age, with bright eyes and easy smiles. They are white, one blond and one brunette. They each wear jeans. One sports a white and pink "Roxy" surf top. The other wears a red t-shirt with lips outlined in silver rhinestones. Their own lips are heavily glossed. One has glitter spray in her hair. They model their choices in front of a mirror, the puffy jackets rack separating us. I bury my nose in a rack of brightly colored ponchos, my back towards them. After a few seconds of fashion talk:

Girl 1: Oh my god! I saw Jenny's sister's nipple ring!

Girl 2: No way!

Girl 1: Serious. I totally did! She showed it to me and I'm like -

Girl 2: NO WAY! Was it gross? What did it look like?

Girl 1: It was soooo cool. So cool. It's silver with two ball thingies on the bottom.

Girl 2: Ew! I am never doing that. I mean, in your boob?

Girl 1: It's so hot! You have to be totally brave to do it. She said it hurt like FTF.

Girl 2: Like what?

Girl 1: FTF.

(silence)

Girl 1: You know, F-T-F?

Girl 2: What's that?

Girl 1: Oh my god! You don't know what FTF is? Haha! You really don't know? First time fuck! Guess I know what you are.

Bathroom Sneak

I am out amongst the after-holiday sale crowds at a local mall. People yawn as they trudge around clothes racks. Some scowl as I wait in line. Merchandise litters the floor in aisles near the cash registers. I finally reach check out and my stomach growls audibly. As I step out into the fresh air, a Soup Plantation restaurant beckons. I approach eagerly, under the spell of delicious soups, salads and breads served buffet style.

The restaurant is only scattered with diners. I'm relieved. I grab a tray and start down the assembly line of fresh food. A couple falls in behind me. The man sighs repeatedly as the woman talks about someone's family drama. She is a slender brunette in jeans and a black turtle neck. She selects lettuce and spinach, piling more fresh vegetables atop the mound. The man is heavy-set with broad shoulders and a shaved head. He wears black sweat pants and a plaid flannel shirt. He fills his plate with Caesar's salad and spoons pasta and potato salads onto it. The woman looks at her husband's plate repeatedly as she's talking. We approach the salad dressing bar and the man pours two ladles of blue cheese atop his plate. The woman chooses raspberry vinaigrette:

Woman: Honey, come on. That's too much dressing.

Man: Oh geez. Not today, huh? Let's just enjoy our lunch.

Woman: Well, you wanna lose weight. I'm just trying to support you.

Man: Do me a favor. Don't be so supportive.

Woman: Well. I'm just saying.

Man: Trust me. I know what you're saying.

We pay for our meals and part ways. After cleaning my plate, I head back to the buffet for some delicious fat noodle chicken soup. On my way I pass the bread island. The man is standing in front of a steaming tray of chocolate muffins. He leans forward, then hesitates. He glances around the island toward the dining area. He returns to the muffins, takes one in each hand and walks opposite of the dining room. My bowl of soup and I peak after him around the corner. He and his muffins enter the men's restroom.

Conditional Love

I'm overjoyed at finding a perfect gift for a good friend and stand in line to pay. After five minutes, I see that I have once again chosen the slowest line in the register bank. Inching forward, I'm finally three customers away from payment. A young Hispanic girl is at my register. She is perhaps 17, wears a red sweater and a Christmas tree pin with blinky lights. Two girlfriends chat in line in front of me, behind the customer currently paying. They are white, one redhead and one blond. Suddenly, the man paying speaks loudly, drawing my attention:

Man: That's not the right change.

Cashier: Uh, I put the wrong amount.

Man: Well, yeah. But the change is still wrong.

Cashier: Huh?

Man: I'm a buck short on my change.

Cashier: Um, I put $200 instead of $20 that you gave me.

Man: I know, I know. I see that. But you still gave me the wrong change. Just take the zero off and do it in your head .

(The girl looks blankly at the monitor screen and bites her lip. The man shakes his head.)

Cashier: Uh, so do what now?

Man: Geez, honey. It's $20 take away $11.79.... So?

(Red blotches form on the cashier's face. She looks nervously at her coworker, who finally steps in to assist her.)

Cashier 2: He gets $8.21 back. Just open the drawer with a void and give him the dollar.

The cashier does as she's told and the man stomps away, again shaking his head. The redhead in front of me elbows her friend and whispers, "God. I hope I don't have a dumb kid. I really do. I wouldn't have the patience. I mean, seriously." She looks about seven months pregnant.

A Calculated Risk with Santa

I'm braving the holiday crowds in the mall. I take a quick break from my shopping list, buy a cinnamon pretzel and sit on the side of a planter. The line for free Santa Claus photos runs right past me and curls around the jewelry store at the corner of this wing. Children of all shapes and colors wait in line with their adults. Some are excited, others afraid, a few indifferent. The line inches forward and soon there is a toddler in front of me, wailing. She wears a red velvet dress, white tights with little green Christmas trees and black patent leather shoes. Her mother sighs, hands on hips. She tries to pick the child up, who lifts her arms straight up in the air and goes limp. Mom struggles with the dead weight.

A little boy, around four, is in front of them with his mother. He looks repeatedly at the crying girl and then peers to Santa, at least 15 kids away. He wears a red sweater vest, plaid pants and a tiny red bow tie. He grabs his mother's hand and turns to the whining girl:

Boy: Don't cry! Little girl, don't cry. (He looks at his mother, who smiles him on)

Girl: Looks briefly at the boy and continues to cry.

Boy: Stop crying! Santa doesn't like it. He doesn't like it when you cry.

Girl: Cries louder.

Boy: Hey, little girl? You can go before me? (He looks at his mom, who caresses his chin and nods in agreement to the girl's mom.)

Girl's Mom: Oh, that's so nice of you honey. Are you sure?

Boy's Mom: It's okay, go ahead. I've been there. (The pairs exchange places in line.)

Boy's Mom: That was very kind of you, baby.

Boy: It's good! Santa will like me more after her because I'm not crying.

Puppet Masters

Today I'm browsing in the designer bag area of Bloomingdale's in Orange County, just looking. The sales lady hardly takes me seriously; she seems to see right through to my practicality. She doesn't ask me if I need help, nothing. Two young 20's come near. Both girls are blond, one with long straight hair and the other with a short bob. Both wear mini skirts and t-shirts. One girl's top says, "Don't hate on me" with a princess crown graphic. The other carries a giant Louis Vuitton bag. Gold bangle bracelets clink with every move. "May I help you ladies?" the sales person says:

Bangles: Yeah. Let me see this one, please.

Lady: Oh, that's a lovely bag. You've got great taste!

Bob: Oooooh! I love it, Stacia! Do you love it?

Bangles: It's alright. Yeah, I like it.

Lady: It's very stylish, honey. Very classy.

Bangles: Yeah, it's cute. Okay, thanks. We'll be back later.

The girls go towards the wallets and I follow:

Bob: You didn't like it? You're not getting it?

Bangles: Nope. I'm gonna tell my dad I'm depressed and he'll give me $500 bucks to go shopping. We'll come back tomorrow.

Both girls continue looking at wallets and openly displayed bags. Bangles's huge Vuitton bag knocks into the edge of a display and two bags fall on the floor. She doesn't pick them up.

Purple Eyeshadow

I am at Walgreen's browsing in cosmetics. Flip flops smacking precede two tween girls who rush the aisle, sharing one shopping basket. Both wear shorts and tank tops, one has painted toe nails - bright blue. The other wears a thin pink headband in blond hair. They are animated and chatter busily while fingering different products:

Pink Band: Eeeee! I'm so excited! Make-up changes everything.

Blue Toes: I know! I know! What are you getting for sure?

Pink Band: I get to get one eyeshadow, one lip gloss and one blush.

Blue Toes: But you have to get mascara! That's the best thing. It makes your eyes sexy.

Pink Band: Nope. My mom said no mascara and no blue or purple eye shadow. Only pink or tan.

Blue Toes: Why? What's wrong with purple or blue?

Pink Band: Because only certain girls wear those.

Blue Toes: Huh? What girls?

Pink band: The teenager moms.

(Pause)

Blue Toes: That's not true. Britney Spears wears purple eyeshadow and she's 25.

Pink band: Um...

Both girls move down the aisle, from one brand to another. Pink Band drifts off to the hair accessories. Blue Toes stops at a mirror on the counter. She turns sideways before it and twists her head to look.

Magic Mirror

I'm in a dressing room when two young female voices enter. They chatter back and forth, excited. Hangers clank on metal rods. Girlish laughter. The two crowd into one stall next to me. Zippers unzip, shoes are flung off. A cell phone rings, playing "Party Like a Rockstar" by Shop Boyz. The call's ignored.

Girl 1: I totally need jeans. So bad.

Girl 2: Me too, but I'm only getting shorts today. And my gloss.

Girl 1: Oh my god that makes me think of that song, 'my lip gloss is poppin', my lip gloss is cool!'

Girl 2: My lip gloss is gonna make me pop! Make Ryan pop!

Girl 1: This is soooo cute, but I don't wanna get any tube tops until I get my boobs. I cannot wait until the 28th!

Girl 2: I know. You are so lucky. Your parents are so cool. You're gonna look so hot for senior year!

I have to see these girls. I am long finished but wait in my stall until I hear their curtain slide open. They look just like I did at 17.

New Money

A mother and teen daughter shop in handbags. The mother is dark-haired, slender and very tan. She wears a "Juicy" light pink velour track suit, carries an oversized white pleated leather Chanel bag and sports no wedding ring. The girl is blond, hair long and straight as a board, an inch of dark regrowth. She has flawless skin, wears pink lip gloss and and low slung jeans. She is very thin and looks tired. She is not at all animated and follows her mother around the glass cases displaying designer bags.

Mom: Coach purses are so new money. They're ridiculous. Everyone has them, even the blacks.

Girl : I know.

Mom: When you rush this fall, you'll have a nice Gucci bag. Everyone knows how much Gucci is. By that time, Coach bags will probably be at Walmart.

The girl laughs but it doesn't sound real.