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Mall madness takes its toll

A look at the microcosm of the American mall

By Luke Udstuen

Published Feb. 12, 2010

Although a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, a poor writer's journey to the Columbia Mall begins with Columbia Transit. But soon after my acceptance of my obligatory relationship with CoMo Transit and all its enigmatic ways, I realized I was in over my head. Understanding Columbia's transit system is as easy as I remember those impossible mazes on the backs of restaurant placemats never ever were.

So, this also began the initial obligatory call to Columbia Transit itself to help with the task of deciphering its cryptic system of bus routes that snake through Columbia. After scribbling down an alphabet soup of bus route numbers and times on the back of my reporter's notebook, I boarded the bus and was en route to Columbia Mall on a dark and snowy Friday evening.

I come from Minnesota. My advice to all those using Columbia Transit after dark who aren't from Columbia: Don't even try to pretend to know where you are and what stop you're approaching. Most of what's outside the bus looks the same. Just tell the nice man at the front of the bus when you need to get off, and he'll stop the bus at the appropriate place. I speak from experience.

Anyway, I digress. I arrived at Columbia Mall a bit famished from my trans-city voyage and found a wonderful establishment some from St. Louis call Bread Co., known to the rest of the world as Panera. I ordered an absurdly healthy whole grain Mediterranean sandwich with a glass of tea.

Soon finished with my sandwich, I decided to continue on my journey. When in the Columbia Mall, do as the Columbians do. I went to Target.

Upon entering the toys section, an electronic cacophony assaulted my ears. I had entered a self-evident black hole for all those less than age 15 — or really anyone still in touch with their inner child.

And then I saw her, a little diva rumored to exist in Miley Cyrus fan clubs. Clad in a rhinestone-speckled tee shirt, which fit so tightly over her fledging muffin top she looked quite fierce — fierce like a live tiger at MU.

The diva, not quite into the Barbies but seemingly entranced with the Dora the Explorer demonstration fixture, passively tapped the demo button on a display case.

"Hola!" Dora exclaimed, "¿Cómo estás?"

"Shut up!" the girl shouted at the inanimate object. She had ostensibly lost interest in the object.

"Let's go on an adventure!" Dora offered.

"That's cool, shut up!" the girl shouted again with no avail. She hit the display case, but alas, Dora kept talking. I decided to leave Dora and the diva alone to sort out their differences.

It's always amazing to me to find the most remarkable of conversations in the most incongruous of places. Meandering through the mall, I began speaking with a woman pushing a cart of cleaning supplies.

"You know, I been here all day," she said. "I work in the cookie place, in the Great American Cookie place."

Through spending so much time in the mall, this woman had acquainted herself with the rhythm of the mall. She spoke with a thick accent.

"I have two years working for the mall," she said. "Something different that I see this year is more people come. The economy is going better. The past weekend we have a lot of people in here, and I say, 'Why?' and they say because they received their tax income back, and that's why they come to shop now."

Mid-sentence, a tall woman with attitude plowed through the two-foot gap separating the cleaning crew woman and me, finger pointed out, loudly blurting, "Skew me! Skew me!" She must have been in a hurry. I suppose that's cool.

The housekeeping woman wasn't fazed at all.

"Sometimes people aren't very nice," she said, looking off into the distance.