All bad things start at the mall.

I’m sure of it.

The depressing stack of khakis half folded, the smell of plastic and chemicals, the energy-sucking florescent lighting. My partner and I went in there yesterday for some reason. Got some kitchen items mainly, but I’m surprised we survived. We left depleted.

My ten-year-old self once saw The Avalon Mall as the jewel of Newfoundland. The biggest mall in the province! My younger self was so enamoured by it. But there it is, the small town pre-adolescent draw. The promise of chance run-ins with cute boys and out-of-reach merchandise you could never get in central, like the hair clip I bought while in St. John’s with my Grade 6 class. It was a very large white bow with black polkadots. I needed that. Obviously. And it came from the MALL after all.

I grew up in Northern Arm, a five-hour drive away from St. John’s. My Grade 6 class went on a field trip to St. John’s for some reason. I’m sure we had a blast, but all I remember is a trip to St. John’s Basilica (people were buried in there!) and a trip to the Avalon Mall.

We were golden in golden times.

Or something.