SHOPPING CENTER
I went to the Mall to exchange a gift that did not suit me.
You know, I don't drive well, because I behave in traffic like I'm on a Hollywood adventure, I dodge cars at the last second, I accelerate madly, I brake hard, I park abruptly, I get out of the car determined to face Indians, fight against legions, helping maidens and putting out fires.
But I only needed to change a pair of shorts.
This mall thing is a hostile environment for me, I mean ... it seems too civilized, too sterile, the floor is so shiny it throws me off balance and makes me slip. Also, the glare of so many lights makes me dizzy and leaves me almost blind.
And there is this army of well-dressed people, a swarm of people walking around and who seem to distill a success that I definitely do not have. To complete this picture of pain, I see that yes, these gigantic mirrored columns were erected with the unmistakable objective of confusing me, as well as the colorful kiosks, nothing convinces me that they were not intentionally scattered precisely in the way that they were supposed to. travel.
I crawl, feet flat on the ground to avoid falling. And then there is the issue of security guards. I keep looking at the dark-suit guards as if they are enemies and the feeling I get is that they are stationed there to keep an eye on me.
So every meter conquered is a feat that I am proud of, the smirk smothered on my astonished face as I admire the shop windows full of things I didn't even know existed.
It sounds curious, but it is pure reality, years away from these consumer temples have made me a hermit of technology, an ignorant of current fashion. They all seem to have amazing cell phones, they wear spectacular clothes that I would hardly wear, or they have unusual hairstyles that I would never use.
I dodge noisy teenagers grouped into clans, couples who whisper to each other, crazy kids pulling at their stressed-out mothers, executives who think of themselves as demigods of capitalism. The shops give off an unbelievably good perfume and I feel like a miserable troglodyte when I touch the mirror-smooth walls, concentrating on accessing the escalator and not committing the embarrassment of falling to the ground.
When I finally find and enter the store I am looking for, the staff in their impeccable uniforms treat me with disdain. In fact, I do not condemn them: I look like a peasant in those rags of the nineties, the faded slippers of someone who does not have a penny. Little by little I make myself understood, because the language I use has an archaic touch and certainly sounds like Greek to the ears of the young woman who tries to understand me.
I take a larger number without even experimenting and rush out of the store, feeling like a victor, someone who has challenged a legendary monster in his cave and leaves the place carrying the loot with his bare hands.
In order not to force my luck, I walk slowly through the corridors, almost getting lost in the parking lot, and finally I find my old car, poor thing, squeezed between two powerful suv’s.
I get in the car and finally drive home, this time driving calm and careful. Now, in front of the mirror, the sad reality: those simple shorts that used to almost fit me look like huge pants.
This time I give up, I certainly will not go back to the Shopping Center, there is a good chance that I will get fat in the next few years and then yes ... I will finally be able to use this damn gift that I have.
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