So, I went to Rolling Oaks Mall today for a blood drive I enrolled in - note to self - don’t donate blood at a mall, no matter how deserted, on a holiday weekend.
I think it’s been a decade or longer since I’ve been in this mall which is two miles from our house.
There are, surprisingly, a lot of stores open.
JC Penny is still in business...who knew?
After the blood letting and since it’s been raining buckets - plus I had to pee - I thought I’d get some steps in by finding a restroom.
The mall apparently has one.
One.
It’s located upstairs in a dodgy area hugged by untenanted stores and kiosks of abandoned dreams.
There are no stairways any more.
No stairs.
There is also no longer a working elevator.
Apparently to minimize our contact with the great unwashed you must walk up a stillborn escalator, rendered stagnant for our safety.
On the upside, you can wave to Santa, who wears a mask, at the bottom of the “escalator of what once was,” and who looks ever hopefully that some child will show up.
There were no takers as I made the trek up the sad, giant escalator stairs not made for walking, thinking I was taking part in a real life version of that Price Is Right “Yodel-Lay-Hee-Hoo”mountain climber game.
Seriously, why on earth would you think making people walk up escalator steps, huffing and puffing, is safer than letting them ride?
Covidiocy?
Upon entering the ONE mall restroom, I quickly realized I had apparently missed an alien autopsy by mere moments.
I opted to run to the nearest exit.
I didn’t scream.
I did get my steps in.
