“Mom, we have to get a birthday present for tomorrow.” Dreaded words.  Yes, we are once again shopping last minute (because there are no invitations; our sons’ social events are arranged by Facebook, text message or word-of-mouth, parents last to know).  But also, like it or not, this means a trip to the mall, the land of Pac Sun, Lids, Abercrombie & Fitch, Game Stop, or Customer Service for a generic gift card. 

 I’m not a mall shopper; OK, I’m not much of a shopper, period.  But I have mall issues: the parking, the lighting, walking the hard surfaces for long hurts my back.  I’m not prone to headaches, but I sometimes get them at the mall.  The choices are overwhelming, the displays too commercial, lack of service, long lines and artificial shortages (can you say Wii?)  I see there is some upside – a warm place to walk on cold days, somewhere to meet friends – perhaps, at best, Hemingway’s, (somewhat) clean, well-lighted place.”

 My main objection is that there are too many people in pursuit of unnecessary objects.  There are no basics like groceries, medicine, or shelter.  Even clothing can be bought at other places, for the same or better prices.  The mannequins are blank and soulless, wearing clothes that are always new and clean, while the rest of us look like slobs in our worn jeans and winter jackets. Not only that, so many of the current fashions don’t seem to suit the shape or style of mere humans. The shoppers don’t appear happy and relaxed; either strained or on a mission.  If shopping is a compulsion or addiction, the high doesn’t appear to last very long.

 I worry that if Martians appeared on Earth and chose to light down at the mall, they would form a misleading and undignified impression of us humans, scurrying about like mice, in random patterns, seeking pointless goods.  If they studied us, what would they make of the restless, seemingly illogical movements?  Would they find us irrational, trying to fill a hunger that cannot be satisfied by the activity we are embarked upon, and in some cases, makes us more depressed, and apt to feel dissatisfied with ourselves –leading to a trip to the food court for pizza to make ourselves feel better? 

 But then, ah, the food court!  When I despair of the mall, I’m strangely cheered by the thought of the food court.  The wide open spaces, with stalls all around – how like a bazaar from the old world.  Loud, echoing conversations, and tantalizing smells – samples of exotic and ethnic cuisine, at very inexpensive prices. Families, children, teens, sales clerks and workers from the neighboring companies – nurses, fund managers, computer engineers, all dropping in for a quick bite at the food court.  In our own Burlington Mall, there is a veritable United Nations of eaters gathered in this one, low-brow, democratic arena.  There is the table of guys from Sun Microsystems: Chinese, Indian, African and townie, all out for lunch on a nice spring day. A woman chatters to her girlfriend in Spanish, as she feeds bread to the baby in the stroller.  The old Chinese couple is having pizza today, and the vegetarian co-eds are eating Indian food. Peaceful, it is not, a lively buzz of conversations in many different languages fills the air, and the little ones, after they’ve eaten, like to run around. But mostly, at the end, the people gather their plates and cups and dump them in the trash.  A need has been satisfied.  People of many races and creeds have sat together and apart in this one great dining room.  Here is utopia, at the food court. Welcome, Martians.