We travel to the hub of young life: Menlo Park Mall. Our goal: to study this elusive species called the “mallrat”. Perhaps we can learn something about them.
Outside the movie theater, they gather to socialize and antagonize security officers amid plumes of cigarette smoke.
They begin to stare, sensing infiltration. I decide to move on before things get ugly.
Quickly, I duck into the video arcade through the side door. Bright lights and techno music bombard me. The source is a Dance Dance Revolution game machine. Young mallgoers, for a small fee, plug in, tune out, and dance to the point of collapse. I watch for a while, and see that those with high scores obtain great status among the others.
I walk a little further. Father and son shoot to kill unseen enemies in a crazed frenzy, yelling and jumping about.
Inside the mall proper. I locate a directory so as not to get lost in this foreign land.
The food court looms huge in front of me. This is where they eat, I gather; the mallrat equivalent of a watering hole. Except with TVs and fluorescent lights. The screens flash information about high fashion, perhaps in the hopes that clothes shoppers will not forget to spend one last dollar after they have finished eating.
I walk on. This man sits amidst a sea of smiling faces. What is his purpose here? It seems to be a grave one. I speculate that he may have lost a loved one to these vicious animals. He does not blend in with the carefree youth that stroll past him. I decide that I must remain vigilant.
Abercrombie and Fitch: giant naked men entice customers with the promise of happiness, charming good looks, and elite status. It seems to be working. Here, "generic brand" is an ugly phrase and is nowhere to be found.
More promises of grand dreams, this time a car. One of the creatures begins to drool as it gazes longingly at the well-oiled machine before him.
I find myself in Barnes & Noble, destination for the educated mallrat. They seemingly spend hours here, perusing the shelves. What they are looking for I could not say.
Our time here is up, as the mall closes until tomorrow. A security guard glides about with an air of importance. She protects customers from the mallrats, and informs me that she is just doing her job as she ushers me out of the building before darkness descends on all the shops. I glance over my shoulder just before I exit and see her, standing noble, surveying the landscape and ensuring the safety of all- especially the Easter Bunny.
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