One Very Fine Day at the Mall

On Saturday afternoon I spent a few hours in a mall in the nearby city of Cambridge, a large shopping centre with an indoor skating rink.

I was waiting on some family and friends who were wandering the place, so I just sat in a seating area along a main corridor and watched people walk by.

I had forgotten how much I enjoy people watching and always have enjoyed it. I can’t tell you what it is I find so interesting about it, but I just know it always makes me feel good.

Teenagers walking in groups, most of them on their cellphones and smartphones, joshing each other.

Parents with their kiddies, grandparents with their grandkiddies.

Young men in wild attire I wish I had the nerve to wear. Young women who seem to have walked right off the pages of a fashion magazine. Young women who have no interest in fashion at all.

Twenty-something professional men and women with perfect grooming who look like they’d be riding home in BMW’s or Audis.

Old folks moving slower than everyone else but part of the flow nonetheless.

Some people marching with great urgency. Others meandering.

Teenage boys looking embarrassed to be with their parents and trying to walk as detached from them as they could. Boys and girls in the blush of first love walking hand in hand and enjoying the thrill of romance up close.

I had brought a book with me and tried to read it but kept looking up to watch the parade. Then I started nodding off and at one point, lost consciousness and almost fell on the floor.

Worried about staying awake for the ride home as no alternate driver was along, I wandered into a newspaper shop and searched the coolers for an energy drink.

“What are you after?” said the shopkeeper, a man in his early 50s perhaps.

“A Monster,” I replied. “The green one?” “Yes,” I said.

“Ah, a man after my own heart,” said the man. He got a can out of the cooler for me.

“I hear these are not good for you,” I ventured as I pulled out a five dollar bill.

“You know what’s bad for you?” asked the shopkeeper as he rang up the sale. “Everything!” He had drank two Monsters on his drive to work of several hours that morning.

“They save my life.”

That made me feel great. I had permission to do something I shouldn’t do. I liked this guy.

I went back to my seat, popped the top on my witch’s brew and savoured every mind-alerting sip. By the time we were ready to leave the mall, I was bright as a daisy. I could have driven from Cambridge, Ontario, to Cambridge, Massachusetts – and back.

It was a great day. I had watched a whole bunch of people I’d never seen before and drank my first guilt-free Monster. And made it home alive.

It’s a good day when you make it home alive.

©2012 Jim Hagarty

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.