The Malliest Mall Of Them All

First I worked in this place in the Food Court that sold French fries and pretzels, for this Vietnamese guy who called himself Jose. Then I moved down another floor and worked at this place that sold nothing but total shit –no vision, none whatsoever: Rattling plastic frogs that croaked and paddled about in a tank of water, incense, big, hideous rugs with pictures of polar bears and lions and Bob Marley, and lousy Green Bay Packers stuff. Then it was on to a shell place where honest to God I once worked an eight-hour shift and never had one person set foot in the door, not even any of the Japanese or the old people from South Dakota. All day long I had to listen to CDs that had like harps and the sounds of waves and some other irritating noise that I think was supposed to be the shrieking of whales but that mostly sounded like seals being clubbed to death. That got fucking old in a hurry so I got a job at a place that sold nothing but lava lamps and Star Wars shit and Bill Clinton masks. Then there was a candle place that reeked so bad that my allergies acted up and I couldn’t get through the day without guzzling an entire bottle of Nyquil and sneaking one-hitters in the bathroom.

I did have some standards, I guess. I never sold shoes or worked at the NASCAR place.

I eventually ended up in a cheesy little religious kiosk where I sat there on a stool and did wordsearch puzzles and read Heavy Metal magazines while the Jesus plaques, crosses, and Bible verse bookmarks gathered dust.

That was pretty much it for me and retail. I’m a graphic designer now.