I Was Humiliated in Hot Topic

 Back in its glory days, before places like JC Penney folded up shop and Dillard's became a clearance center, Eastridge Mall in Gastonia, NC was THE destination on the weekends.  Crowded, hot, and loud; just the type of place I avoided, and still do. Besides, they have escalators which scare the hell out of me. Who ever thought moving stairs were a good idea can kiss it where the sun don't shine.

Anyhow.  

Quite a few years ago, when my youngest daughter was still a teenager and the middle one was a young mother, they decided that it would be a big old fun outing if I took them - and toddler granddaughter Julie - to Eastridge Mall; a mother/daughter/granddaughter bonding day, if you will.  This would entail loading a stroller in the trunk of my Dodge Stratus for the kid, and taking it in and out depending on how many places they wanted to go.  I don't know why we didn't just strap her in the stroller in the trunk rather than take a car seat, but the I think the words "child abuse" were mentioned.   

In later years I didn't want my daughters to say I never wanted to have fun with them, so I put on my game mom/nana face and off we went.  We stopped first at an indoor yard sale at a church.  I was fine, having a great time looking around, when I heard Kim yell out "hey, Mom!  These would look great on you!" She was waving a pair of hot pink satin briefs in the air.  I marched over, grabbed them out of her hand, paid 50 cents and got us out of there.  Several people were snickering. My daughters were giggling.

No sooner had we gotten in the car than my cell phone began to ring. (This was one of my first phones, a black candy-bar type, which tells you how long ago this was. ) It was my oldest son, who had some sort of emergency (read - he wanted to go see a girl) and wanted me to turn around and come home right away.  I told him to walk or ask his father, and ended the call.  By the end of the afternoon, I wished I'd just had the smarts to turn the damn thing off.  You'll see why in a couple of paragraphs.

We got to Eastridge Mall, took the kid out of the car seat and strapped her into the stroller, and headed in.  We hit several stores, during which time my phone rang non-stop; the husband asking how long I was going to be, oldest daughter with some sort of issue, youngest son with some sort of crap.  My patience was running out faster than Josh Hawley on January 6, and all I wanted was to go home and watch trash TV. About the time the girls were considering how to get a stroller up to the top level on the escalators, I almost panicked.

Then - "Oooh, Hot Topic!  Come on, Momma!" For the uninitiated, Hot Topic was/is a fun, edgy place.  The frontage was all plexiglas with an opening in the center for the "door". The employees were young and hip, meaning they were heavily tattooed and pierced, albeit very friendly.  Hot Topic carried T-Shirts with cartoon characters making snarky comments, such as Stewie and Brian Griffin from Family Guy.  Body piercing items. Incense. Lots of clothing items featuring skulls.  I picked up an adorable pair of shoes decorated with cherries and almost bought them until I noticed the precious skull and crossbones on the heels. Nope. I couldn't wear those to work.  

My phone had rung several times and I was becoming more irritated by the minute.  The last call, from my oldest daughter, caught me while I was in the back of the store looking at a Lamb Chop puppet that I was thinking of buying for nostalgia's sake. I finally lost it. "Damn it, let me go outside and call you right back!" I was striding through the store, pissed off and intent on going out to one of the benches outside of the store, calling my daughter and giving her a piece of my mind.  

I missed the door and ran nose first into the plexiglas, leaving a nice print.

Kerry and Kim were in hysterics. The entire store and the top level of the mall could hear. If Julie had been old enough she would have laughed.  The two girls working that day had the grace to turn their heads before they covered their mouths and giggled.  I was holding my nose and muttering "son of a bitch" under my breath. Without looking behind me, I found the exit, went out to the bench and dialed Michelle's number, then asked her what the hell she wanted.  "God, Momma, what's wrong with you?" 

I gave her the full story, close to tears. There was a single silent beat, and then I heard more hysteria from her end.  She told her significant other what had happened.  More laughter.  "Damn it, this isn't funny!" I snapped - and then I started to laugh.  It was ridiculous, and it was funny.  I got my head out of my ass and told her I'd call later.

As I went back in the store, one of the employees pulled me aside.  "We're sorry we laughed. And you're not the first person that's happened to, so don't feel too bad."  The other one was at the front with a bottle of Windex and a cloth, wiping off my nose print and occasionally turning around to look at me and snort.

All in all, it did turn out to be a bonding experience, though one that my darling daughters like to remind me of from time to time.  Now they want to bond with me over getting a tattoo.  God help us all. 

I'm considering Snoopy at his typewriter.