There’s just something about the mall. Something about the neon signs, something about the perfectly set up display windows, something about the smell of new clothes. The mall just has a certain vibrance that makes us madly dash through it’s doors and hallways. But do we ever stop and really look at it? Are we all in such a hurry that we miss the subtle essence of the mall- the people inside?
All around me people are walking, sitting, talking, eating, with shopping bags hooked onto their arms. Mothers with sons, husbands with wives, teenagers with their friends; all here with the same purpose- to shop. They are the life blood of the mall. 
I’ve decided to observe this life blood. The shoppers and the workers. I’ve chosen the food court as my perch. The most people are gathered here and from this point I can see down the longest corridor.
The smell of food from several different restaurants mingles with the cleaning solution. Not all the that appetizing but I haven’t eaten all day. Chicken is being grilled, teriyaki sauce wafts over persuading me to try a sample. As people rush by I can smell the warm cookies and scorching cups of coffee in their hands. I can scarcely smell freshly baked bread from Subway. It’s calling me.
I walk to the counter and decide on one of their personal pan pizzas. I take my place in line behind a middle aged couple and the woman’s mother. The mother is apparently hard of hearing because her daughter speaks to her rather loudly and slowly. The daughter turns to me and asks, “Do you know what you want? We might take awhile so you could go ahead of us if you’d like.”“Oh no, I’m in no hurry. Take your time.” I replied. While I wait, I watch the frail, elderly woman focus her eyes on the lighted menu board. Her daughter appears to be in a hurry, she begins reading the menu to her mother in a loud, apprehensive tone. The mother decides on a turkey breast sandwich and very slowly decides on her toppings. By the sound of the worker’s voice, I can tell she’s getting a little impatient as well. I can’t exactly blame her, it’s around noon so the food court is very busy.
I sit down with my pizza and begin watching. A family is walking towards my table. The daughter and son are teenagers, probably about fifteen or sixteen. The girl has shopping bags from American Eagle, The Buckle, and Aeropostal; more than the boy who has a lonely Steve and Barry’s bag. Not a big surprise. They look very embarrassed to be seen with their parents. Two sets of identically blue eyes are darting around the mall to make sure non of their friends are around.
I remember those days. My sister was way worse than I was though. On Sundays we would go out to eat. My sister hated it. She was scared to death her friends would see her and think she was lame for hanging out with her family. My parents would always say, “They know you have parents.” She would even duck in the car when we’d drive through town. To make her mad, my parents would drive as slow as possible.
“Cheeseburger no pickles,” brings me out of my thoughts. Several fast food places are busily making food. I can hear the clang of spatulas hitting grills, the stressed out voices of those making food. Large, burly security guards are walking by. They look at me, stare in fact. Their walkie-talkies mumble some type of order. They turn around and leave. Maybe someone is stealing something. I know some people who have shoplifted. Some on purpose, some on accident.
One of my friends actually stole a water purifier from Walmart. In the self checkout lane he put a pack of gum over the bar code so it read the price of the gum instead of the purifier. The employees saw him pass the purifier over the scanner but he only paid for the gum. He feels horrible now. Now there are no self checkouts in the Walmart on twenty-seventh street. Too many people have discovered the trick.A mop bucket rolls by, I notice a janitor I’ve seen many times. She’s been here for years. She takes her job very seriously. She cleans off the tables before the person dining has time to finish their last bite. She watches me like a hawk. I’m sure she wonders why I’m sitting here writing in a notebook. In fact, lots of people are staring at me. I guess it is a little weird that I’m sitting here writing in a notebook.
I glance around the mall and see a guy with spiky hair and a pink striped shirt skipping in place. Why was he skipping? You may ask. Well I can’t tell you for sure. Perhaps he was bored. Perhaps he was meeting someone in person for the first time and said, “You’ll know me because I’ll be the one wearing a pink shirt and skipping,” maybe he just likes to skip.
I sit for awhile longer, watching people in business suits scurry by on their lunch break. Maybe they have to get little Suzy a Halloween costume, maybe Johnnie needs new shoes, maybe Sally needs a skirt for a fall concert. They fit these things into their busy schedules, they could be at a nice restaurant eating a delicious meal for their break; but no, they grab a granola bar out of the vending machine and shop for others.
The mall is filled with people of different shapes, sizes, and colors. They all have a different reason for being there, but unite to give the mall life and vibrance. No, it’s not the neon signs, display windows, or new clothes that gives the mall it’s essence; it’s the people inside.
