We are in trouble as a human race. Plain and simple. We have let the internet and online shopping destroy a staple of our nations history. The shopping mall. I personally hate crowds in enclosed places, the parking at the mall is an awful experience, the people are insane and there are so many negatives that go hand in hand with that experience. The malls and that idea of shopping has become nearly obsolete and within the next ten to fifteen years, the shopping mall might be just a distant memory.
You might say, Scors, if you hate this institute of shopping, then why are we in trouble if the shopping malls around the country meet their demise? One reason and on reason only, Auntie Anne’s Pretzels.
I recently had an Auntie Anne’s Original Pretzel at an outlet mall over the weekend and I was reminded of things that we need to fight for as a people. You might say, well if the malls close, then maybe Auntie Anne’s will open separate locations. Seriously? That’s not going to work. The malls and Auntie Anne’s go hand in hand, you walk in the mall, you find the pretzel stand and peruse around the mall, pretzel in hand, making this experience somewhat bearable. You need the pretzel to tolerate the mall, if one doesn’t exist than the other cannot stand alone.
I was walking around the outlets trying on “slim fit” shirt after “slim fit” shirt and surprisingly none of them fitting and it looked liked I was smuggling loaves of bread in my mid section. Dejected and frustrated with my budding mid section, I walked around as my wife ducked into shoe store, boutique, shoe store, boutique until my nose caught a whiff of the heavenly buttery smell that has made these experiences somewhat manageable throughout my youth and into adulthood. Up ahead in the distance, I saw it, Auntie Anne’s, shimmering like a beacon in the night. I went inside and after some miscommunication with the Auntie Anne’s cashier, I finally received my original flavored pretzel. It was kept under those buzzing, radiant, heat lamps that have been keeping process food edible since the Nixon administration. No need for mustard, or extra salt, or any fixings, Auntie Anne’s lathered butter is all you need to walk around and feel human again. While the tight fitting clothing shops have a vendetta out against huskier guys, Auntie Anne’s says “hey, we still love you, come get a pretzel, and be happy”. I’ll be goddamned if we lose this institution people, you need to give amazon and online shopping a rest and head back to the malls and insert some resurgence into this prehistoric form of shopping, for Auntie Anne’s and husky guys sake, if for nothing else.
I remember once as a child, I was about 11 years old. My mother took me to Express (insert blink 182 lyrics here) to try on some pants for an upcoming elementary school Christmas concert. We were in the dressing room, squeezing into pants, my fat ass shaking like Mike Tyson in a spelling bee trying to wedge myself into these corduroy trousers. As my mom was trying to button the pants, a popping sound, the button exploding off of the seams and shooting off the wall. Pure rage and embarrassment overcame me. This way too much, the crowded mall, me being a larger than life eleven year old, the Knicks on the verge of another 18 win season, parental controls on the HBO, and almost killing my dear mother with a button to the cranium. I was done with this trip to this god forsaken hell hole that is the mall. We were leaving, not saying a word and then that smell, that deliciousness, the butter, the salt, the plastic wrap that encases the pretzel, a mere twinkle came to my eye. I looked at my mother, she tasseled my hair and we skipped to the front of the pretzel line, nuggets please I yelped to the cashier. Like Mean Joe Greene tossing the kid his jersey, this high school dropout with tattoos covering her entire body, snarled at me and grabbed the tongs and removed those nuggets and tossed them to me. THANKS MEAN JOE. I woofed down those nuggets and I was reborn, to the GAP I went, no discrimination for the plus sized adolescent there, 38×24 pant size, please and thank you. Time to sing my little lungs out at the Christmas concert, eat your heart out Bing Crosby.
I need the malls to stay open, I need to complain when I am on the way there, complain when the pants don’t fit and make it all better with an Auntie Anne’s pretzel. Just like you wouldn’t want to see institutions of your childhood shut down, I need this to stay open. In some sick polluted way, maybe I love the mall. Maybe I enjoy the pain, maybe it’s all worth it, just for that second, when the processed butter and pretzel hits your lips.
My sweet sweetheart Auntie Anne. Love, Scors