Damien Galeone

It was December 23^rd and the mall was packed. The shops were overflowing with deranged shoppers. The food courts were like Valhalla without the booze or war hammers, and mall staff looked as though someone had just set their readiness alert to DEFCON 3.

The walkways of the mall were jammed with people trying desperately to get last minute gifts to bolster Christmas piles. And it was all happening to a soundtrack of Christmas music, store announcements, and screeching children.

I didn’t mind, as it was all part of the atmosphere. Moreover, it was one of my favorite days of the year. I have always enjoyed the build up to an event more than the event itself, so the day before the day before Christmas holds a special place in my heart.

My mom and I made a morning of it. We are early morning people: up at 6 am, caffeinated, organized, and out the door by 8:30 to the mall. We stopped for a bagel and a coffee. We had goals. Goal number one was to get me a coat. The second was for me to buy 90% of my Christmas gifts.

We started at Boscov’s. If you don’t know Boscov’s, sit back and picture every Christmas movie scene that takes place at a mall department store and you have Boscov’s. The clothing floor (ground level) is immense, aisles cut through uncountable racks of clothing and accessories sectioned off in age-old classifications: ladies, misses, juniors, men’s, young men’s, intimate apparel, active, LL Bean. Upstairs is kitchen and dining room, downstairs is living room and bedroom.

After Boscov’s I ran off to Barnes and Noble to buy books. My mother went off to accomplish her own tasks. We agreed to meet at 11 am at the junior miss department at Boscov’s, since that is nearby the east exit and where we parked.

After I left the bookstore I stopped in a sweets shop and picked us up a couple of coconut chocolates. And as I made my way back to the department store to meet my mom is when I processed what I had agreed to. I was going to meet my mom in a massive department store on December 23^rd. This was not going to work.

I hoped that since it was earlyish on a Friday, the place wouldn’t be too busy yet, but I was wrong. This was no ordinary day; this was December 23^rd, and people were under the wire. I walked through the active wear, dodged a group of (peculiarly) similarly clad shoppers by cutting through cosmetics.

I gazed through huge groups of people. It was clear: I was lost.

OK, not lost. It’s tough for a 42 year old man to “get lost” in a store. But it certainly set off an inner alarm. Not that I was worried, I simply foresaw a frustrating morning of looking around for my mommy while she blended in with 2,500 shoppers looking for a last minute deal on quilts. I retired to shoes and made a plan.

My mom is small, about 4’11, and department stores are her natural habitat. The first thing she does in any shop is grab a cart that is double her body size. It doesn’t matter what she’s expecting to buy – a shirt, a book, a bottle of perfume – there is always a cart. Additionally, she pushes it off the aisles and in through the racks of clothing into nooks and crannies where carts aren’t supposed to go and just don’t fit, sort of like maneuvering an airboat through a miniature garden pond.

She and her cart can disappear for hours among the racks. Also, she was not adhered to one department. She had to buy things for grandchildren, husband, boss, sons, daughters, her kitchen, her house. This meant she could be anywhere, juniors, misses, shoes, dining, active, tots.

She was going to be hard to find.

My dad would be much easier to find. In the first place, his departments are limited to whatever is closest to his car. Moreover, my dad is much easier to track throughout the mall. I would simply find the closest vendor of soft pretzels and then follow the trail of crumbs to the nearest bench. No doubt would he be found there eating pretzels and drinking a lemonade.

In shoes I had an idea. My mother may be small, but she makes a lot of noise. She groans with each step and whistles constantly. She is also the opposite of shy and will loudly wish everyone in her path a merry Christmas or a Happy Hanukkah, or, as seemed to be the case this holiday, a Merry Christmakkah.

I headed back towards junior miss.

There was certainly something inherently upsetting about losing a parent in a mall. I had to quell an instinct to have a shop assistant call for my mom on the intercom. Would an Almarita Galeone please come to customer service, we have found your son.

Everyone in the store was wearing a crazed smile. I avoided them as much as I could by diving through sections. In intimate apparel a shop assistant asked: “Can I help you find something?”

“My mother,” I said, realizing too late that what I considered a witty retort was made creepy by our location. We both looked at an Olga sheer Front Close and I ran away with a red face.

From over the heads of a few people gawking at a mannequin better dressed than I have ever been in my life, I heard it: a whistle. I listened more closely. The whistle was off-tune, chaotic, meandering, nonsensical. It sounded like wind running through a metal grate. No song was discernible.

My mom!

Around the corner she came, pushing her cart filled with bags.

“Hey,” she said, naturally, as if there was no question I wouldn’t be standing right here.

“Hey, are you ready?”

“Yep.”

I handed her a chocolate that I had bought her earlier and cut through handbags and accessories and the familiar terrain of junior miss before pushing through the east door to freedom.