Where Have All The Good Malls Gone?

I was raised a middle-class valley girl. Like, back in the day when you said “Omigod!” complete with mandatory high-pitched inflection, instead of the current, and grody to the max, “OMG!”

My first job was at the mall, selling baked goods and frozen yogurt to assorted mall rats. Amidst the aroma of chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin, I traded cookies for records with the rad Wherehouse Music dudes and fended off advances from the gross Florsheim shoe sellers. I received awesome advice from the white-haired manager of See’s Candies. She used to bring me mint truffles and Bordeaux chocolates. It was totally cool.

This is when it was actually called “The Mall” — not the “Fashion Center” or “Place” or “Square.” When the Mall of America was assembled like a Smithsonian Institution of shopping no other establishment seemed to be allowed to use that moniker.

What-ever.

Instead another breed of mall has arisen — the ambiance more carnival than commercial. Kiosks are the new tents where hucksters promote their magic potions and gadgetry. Hair extensions, convertible purses and cell phone cases blanket the marketplace. Pretzels, popcorn and corn dogs fill the food court with county fair atmosphere. Bungee jumping outside one entrance. Two-story carousel at the other. I try to avoid it as much as possible, but the day…