Hold My Purse
By: Dateline
Tags: Christian, Humor, Life Lessons

Hold My Purse

As a child of the 80s, I never thought it would be possible to look back and find deep significance in a trip to Benetton, eating a cookie from Mrs. Fields and watching a “Police Academy” movie…but here I am.

When reflecting on a profound subject such as the “circle-of-life,” one might be inspired to think of the earth’s changing seasons. Spring gives us birth. Summer shows us life. Fall and winter represent decline and death…followed by rebirth once again spring.

You might ponder the “circle-of-life” on a grand theoretical scale by thinking about “the big bang,” “time travel,” “alternate realities” and “black holes.”

Perhaps you could think of the “circle-of-life” in terms of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

I think of the mall.

When I was a little kid my mom dragged me to the mall. As an adolescent my school buddies dragged me to the mall. As a young adult my girlfriends dragged me to the mall. Later, I was dragged to the mall by my wife. If casual observation can be trusted, the future will have me being dragged to the mall by some blue haired old biddy because she wants company while power walking and buying pairs of support hose.

Sadly though, as I move through these various stages of the “circle-of-life,” I will never have a prayer of being able to escape my less than distinguished subordinate role of: “the-one-who-holds-the-purse.”

If you have no life (like me) you will probably be intrigued by the mall’s linguistic heritage. Its roots are traced back to a 17th century game called “pall-mall,” similar to our modern day croquet. Croquet is, of course, played with a ball and a mallet as was “pall-mall” which directly translated means, conveniently enough, “ball-mallet.”

Stay with me here.

“Pall-mall” was played on a long alley and in time the term “pall-mall” began being used to describe any type of long open alley. Eventually, the term was shortened to just the “mallet” portion of “pall mall” giving us the word “mall;” our long alley of modern stores.

But wait…there’s more!

The “mall,” being the mallet or striking tool in the game of “pall-mall,” is derived from the word “maul” (m-a-u-l). The maul is a beastly, medieval-looking hand tool used for splitting wood. More germane to my “thesis” though is the fact that “maul” (as a verb) means to beat, bruise, mangle or otherwise, in some way, shape or form, inflict some kind of torture on some hapless victim.

And that’s just what the mall is for me….torture.

As a young lad I was sentenced to my early position on the mall’s “circle-of-life.” Mom would drag me to sixty-five different stores to have me try on one hundred eighty-seven different pairs of pants. For every pair I tried on she’d ask if they fit right. I’d say, “they do.” She’d say, “they don’t.” I’d tell mom to “Just put me in a burlap sack. I don’t care. Can we just go home already?” She’d say, “Just one more store.”

To make this torture worse, I always seemed to be missing a “Police Academy” movie marathon on my favorite UHF station.

Finally, after store number four hundred eighty-nine, Mom would be satisfied with my pants (sort of). This meant that I might be able to make it home in time to catch the tail end of “Police Academy 13: The Crack Buyer Strikes Back”…but no, mom’s satisfaction just meant that it was time for HER to start trying on clothes.

**** ***** ****

“Alright honey, I’m going to go into the fitting room so I can try on [the store]…I’ll only be a minute. I just need you to hold my purse.”

**** ***** ******

And so it began.

The mall “circle-of-life” seemed like it might have some promise in my teen years, but it was fleeting. My friends had introduced me to the “food court.” Seriously, the invention of the food court is right up there with sliced bread (which is fifty percent off this week at “The Loafeteria”). Sadly though, one can only survive for so long on “Orange Julius,” frozen yogurt and bourbon chicken. I suppose I could have ‘nourished my soul’ there (so to speak) but I never had enough money.

Window shopping is bad enough as it is, but doing it at the food court is a special kind of torture.

Then my friends would drag me to the theater. They always picked some lame movie with elves or hobbits or spaceships. I could never convince anyone to go see the latest product to roll off the “Police-Academy-Assembly-Line.”

***** ****** ******

Friends: Those “Police Academy” movies are stupid.

Me: No they’re not. This is the one where Tackleberry gets abducted by a UFO and that guy who makes the funny sounds…makes some more funny sounds.

****** ****** *******

During this period of time the mall did offer up one tempting little nugget: “The Mall Rat.” “The Mall Rat” was a girl who wore a skirt that was just a little too short, she had on a sweater that was just a little to tight and she chewed her gum just a little too loudly.

I liked “Mall Rat.” Why she never seemed interested in the guy wearing a “Morris-the-Cat” t-shirt with matching pants, (that his mom picked out for him) was beyond me. I guess it didn’t matter. She was already there with some dude who sported spiked hair, wore an open leather jacket that proudly displayed an AC/DC shirt and had on torn pants that I’m pretty sure HIS mom did NOT pick out for him.

He was also holding her purse.

(SIGH)

Eventually I met Buffy, the girl who would become my wife. She was less “Mall-RAT” and more “Book-WORM.” Buffy’s zoological persuasion notwithstanding, a good deal of our first date was spent at “The Mall.” This was NOT my idea. Nevertheless, we did all of the usual mall activities. We tossed some change in the fountain, ate at the food court and went to that “body-and-bath” place, which smells kind of like a perfume truck crashed into an air freshener factory.

We, of course, ended our date with a trip to the mall theater. Fortunately, the movie we saw didn’t have any sprites or unicorns, but UNfortunately, “Police Academy 37: Arrest of the Nerds” was sold out.

So, for better or for worse, through sickness and health and for as long as we both would live (or, you know, “a while” as the case may be), that next phase of the circle of my life had started at the mall.

If you look closely, you’ll notice the mall also has its own “circle-of-life” thing going on too. The “one-hour-photo” place of yesteryears has been replaced with a cell phone boutique. The music stores of a bygone era have given way to a place where you can “stop” for games. I suppose those shops will one day be pushed out by hoverboard kiosks and stores like “Robot Shack” (a division of the Tandy Corporation). I can only assume our “food-court-of-the-future” will be offering up avocado toast in capsule form [eye roll].

Even having said that, it’s important to note that the mall is no stranger to another familiar “circle-of-life” concept: the more things change the more things stay the same. As a result, the mall will always have a collection of shops that confuse me.

Why does every mall have a luggage store? And why are there so many picture frame shops at the mall? Are people really buying that much artwork and baggage? I don’t get it! I also find myself perplexed by the presence of law offices and financial advisors in the mall. They seem oddly out of place.

I don’t know, maybe it’s a stroke of genius.

******* ******** ********

Potential Mall Patron: “Let’s see, I need to update my 401k, sue McChurchy’s because I spilled hot coffee on myself and buy a new jockstrap. Where can I go to knock out all three of those chores at once?

****** ****** ****** ******

And what’s up with all those damn candle shops?!?!

Another small highlight of the mall was watching that inept stooge at “Gary’s Shoes.” He would try in vain to squeeze pumps onto the feet of a bevy of plus-sized gals who, for some inexplicable reason, all insisted they were “size seven [shoulder shrug].

Beyond that, every once in a while my “mall angst” would slip into outright depression. As I grew older it became increasingly harder to find clothes that would flatter my love handles. Also, one day I realized I could no longer find my favorite style.

***** ***** ****** *****

Me: What happened to all of the alligator shirts? Where are they hiding the jams? And why can’t I find a new “Members Only” jacket?

***** ****** ****** *****

A few years ago I got lucky and stumbled upon a store that actually did sell “my kind of style;” but then a puzzling question was posed to me by the clerk behind the counter.

***** ***** ***** *****

Clerk: “…Thank you for shopping with us today, sir. Before I let you go, I need to ask a quick question. Do you have anything you’d be interested in selling?”

**** ***** ***** *****

Is this guy making an indecent proposal? What the hell is going on here?

That’s when the cruel reality of my mall’s take on the “circle-of-life” bit me in the backside with razor sharp teeth of sarcastic irony.

I realized I was in the “Retro Store.”

Can someone just shoot me?

The real “circle-of-life” has societal norms, governing bodies and the expectation of an adherence to established rule of law.

Our modern day shopping plaza has: “The Mall Cop.”

The mall cop scared me as a kid. Real jail was a foreign concept…but “mall jail” scared the hell out of me. The last thing I wanted from life was to “do more time” at the mall.

The mall cop in-and-of himself kind of represents the circle of life. He is either twelve years old or one hundred twelve years old. Any encounters with this acne coated/hemorrhoid raveged “civil servant” are enough to have you running in circles.

***** ***** ***** *****

Mall Cop: Freeze scumbag! I just clocked you doing eighteen in a twelve items or less lane. I’m going to need you to step away from the basket and hand me your receipt so I can mark it up with my service highlighter!

Me: Uh..excuse me Mr. Mall Cop, your fly is down and I’m pretty sure that pricing gun you’re pointing at me isn’t loaded.

***** ***** ***** *****

The real circle of life has its share of awkward moments: bad jokes at worse times, walking out of the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to your shoe, that titillating yet awkward first kiss.

The mall has that damn lingerie store.

I really have a love/hate relationship with that place.

Hated: Walking by with my mom.

Loved: Catching a glimpse of their window display without her noticing.

Hated: Walking by with my morally respectable girlfriend.

Loved: Catching a glimpse of their window display without her noticing.

Loved: Studying their window display with my high school buddies.

Hated: Being turned on by scantily clad mannequins.

Loved: My wife asking me, “Do you think we should go in there?”

Hated: Answering her with, “In there? Oh, I don’t know, I suppose we could…maybe…you know…if you think we should…it might be alright. But only if you want to, I guess.

Loved: Watching her try things on.

Hated: …[eye roll]…holding her purse.

(sigh)

With all of this time and effort I have spent battling against “The Mall” (and losing), I’m starting to get the idea that God may be trying to teach me some kind of lesson.

Is this possible?

Could “The Mall” have any redeeming value?

Maybe God is trying to teach me perseverance? Have you ever tried to find the mall bathroom? It’s akin to looking for the lost ark. You wander through a maze of spooky corridors (that may or may not be lit with flaming torches). You have to clear away cobwebs to locate hidden trap doors. You will find yourself desperately trying to obtain information from sketchy looking fellons who don’t speak English. AND THEN much like the original ark, once you find the bathroom you can’t touch it, open it or look at its contents…otherwise you’ll die!

Maybe God is using the mall to teach me trust? If someone wasn’t there to “shepherd” me along…I’d get lost on the way to the mall; I’d get lost in the mall parking lot; I’d get lost looking for the right entrance; I’d get lost IN the mall; lost on the wrong floor; lost on the wrong wing; I’d get lost inside individual stores; I’d get lost looking for that stupid directory board with the “you-are-here” dot.

Even as I am being led through the mall by someone who loves me, there’s a pretty good chance that, at some point, I’ll wander away from my “keeper.” I will, perhaps with assistance from the mall cop, make my way back to the mall fountain. I’ll do that with trust the person who brought me this far will return for me because, after all, that is who I belong to.

Maybe God is trying to teach me responsibility by having me hold purses? Really, I don’t know.

Many years ago I got my first Bible at a Christian bookstore in the mall. I guess that’s worth something.

More recently, I can be convinced to go to a mall on the condition that we swing by that Christian chicken place. Christian chicken has redeeming value…right?

Today, as the circle of life has continued to rotate, you might actually find ME dragging someone to the mall to see some dorky Christian movie…although I’ll never actually admit to liking that cheesy schmaltz.

As much as I have been no fan of “the mall,” I will reluctantly agree that “the mall” does seem to have everything one needs to survive:

“BREAD of life” from the food court.

“Living WATER” supplied by the fountain where I sit waiting to be claimed.

“AIR of the spirit” is also available from the mall. You can find that at “More-For-Your-Life-Church” which now occupies the abandoned shell of an old Sears outlet.

Like I said, I never thought it would be possible to find deep significance in a trip to the mall…but here I am.

I just left church. My financial and legal affairs are in order. I’m enjoying a new jockstrap while munching on a drumstick from “McChurchy’s,” and I’m on my way to see “Police Academy 59: Hightower Gets Saved.”

Yup, I was dragged off in a cloud of fur and feathers that left behind an assortment of bite and scratch marks…but somehow “the mall” managed to bring me full circle, because of that, I am a new creation.

With that, you might be interested in knowing that my new pants not only fit well; they also match the purse I’m holding! [eye roll]