And Now, For Something Completely Different

Bitch rants aside, there is a topic I've been meaning to blog, but I just can't do a humorous rant as well as Shanshu, so I've been stalling. Here goes. . .

Like many girly-girls, I treasure my occassional salon visits. Before our trip to Las Vegas, I splurged and scheduled a haircut, a manicure/pedicure, and an eyebrow wax at my salon. All fine and dandy.

The day of the appointments, I arrive at my salon. Or, at least, attempt to. You see, my Aveda salon happens to be conveniently located a few blocks from my house in the Crown Center shopping mall.

One teensy, tiny problem that I had forgotten about. Crown Center is a flippin' madhouse between Halloween and New Year's. Apparently, they are starting earlier and earlier, because I arrived when several things were concurrently happening. The entire ice plaza is under construction, there was a harvest moon pumpkin festival, and Star 102 was having a youth "american idol"-style talent show. On top of that, the Westin was hosting a psychiatrist's conference, so 4000 people were on their lunch break at the same time, trying to get food from the food court. That's some crap-tastic planning right there. Anyway. . .

Every child under the age of 12 from Johnson County was there. Every single SUV and station wagon from Overland Park, Olathe, and Blue Springs was wandering around Crown Center's surrounding blocks. You know how people move to New York and all of the sudden they are cooler than all the tourists who come to New York from their home state? We have that here in KC. All the people who grew up out south who move downtown to lofts, or the art institute or whatever--we've become city snobs, mocking our former neighbors. I know it's wrong, but were we ever like this?!

I imagined the conversation inside the meandering, lost vehicles:

Stiffly coiffed blonde mom: honey, honey, there's a parking space right there!!!

macho salesdad: no, muffster, that's where the buses pick the poor people up.

mom: we'll just park in the lot over there

dad: ok. No wait, that's valet parking for the hotel.

mom: oooh, ooooh, there are some other cars over there, they look like they're in line for something! Maybe we can park there!

dad: ok! (cuts across four lanes of traffic, cutting me off on my scooter and almost killing me)

mom: Wow, there sure is a lot of traffic downtown (there are three cars in line to turn left--no one will turn left because one car will trickle by going the opposite direction, oh, say every ten minutes)

me: Turn left, goddamnit!!! I'm gonna be late and Jessica's going to give away my appointment! (beeps scooter horn)

dad: whoa, hold your horses there, little missy. It's hard to navigate this Ford Explorer in the scary, threatening "downtown" here. We can't turn left until we're sure that the coast is absolutely clear. for five minutes. In either direction. Let me check my GPS tracker, maybe that will help.

(kids whining in backseat)

mom: okay, I'll turn on the TV

(they all watch TV)

me: STOP WATCHING SPONGEBOB AND TURN LEFT!!!!!!!!!

(they finally turn left and drive up to parking attendant booth)

mom: oh no, you have to PAY for parking?! We'd NEVER have to put up with this crap at Oak Park Mall.

dad: no, muffy-meister. I know that's right. Out in God's country, we NEVER pay for parking. We can circle the lot infinitely, looking for an ever-closer parking space so we never have to get out and walk more than 20 yards.

(they begin to search for a parking space)

mom: oh, honey, there's one! . . .no, just a Honda Civic. Ooops, there's one! oh, no. . .we'll never find a space.

dad: don't worry darling, I found one! (tries to park car)

dad: huh, it seems like our Ford Expedition won't fit into this ridiculously undersized parking space. We'll just have to back out of the entire parking garage and find parking elsewhere.

me: ARRRRGGGHHHHH!!!

mom: did you hear something?

(I zip around everyone in line to park, go past the attendant and grab a space right next to the ice rink as a mini-van pulls out. Parking attendant flashes me a conspiratorial smile of solidarity. I rush into the mall, only to be greeting with an eerily familiar sight. This time, instead of SUV's, it's SUV strollers. Does anyone else remember umbrella strollers--our Moms used them back in the day? They had three tiny wheels, were easily folded and stowed, were lightweight and didn't take up any space. Apparently babies are more complicated than they were 20 or 30 years ago, because now, instead of a diaper bag and an umbrella stroller being sufficient for an afternoon out with the kids, people need the Humvee stroller. Anyway, here's the scene. . .)

(stairs from parking garage)

mom1: Well, Tiffany *ugh* I just can't *grunt* get your stroller *hughc* up these *sigh* stairs. I'm sure I saw an elevator around here somewhere.

Tiffany: (about three years old, perfectly capable of walking and talking and doing for herself, but sitting in said stroller reclining like a princess) I want candy, mommy!

mom2: We're going to go to the candy store, you'll like that, won't you Madison?

Madison: (from his similarly sized boheometh stroller) I hate you Mommy.

mom2: Oh, ha ha ha. Kids say the gosh darndest things!

(in the hallway)

mom1: oooh, look at all the people. Stay close by Tiffany, and don't talk to any strangers!

Tiffany: (imprisoned in her stroller, gives her mom puzzled look, sucks thumb)

mom2: let's walk four abreast, so no one can get past us, or our ginormous strollers!

mom1: Great idea! In fact, why don't we do that, and walk e-x-t-r-a s-l-o-w! That'll be fun!

mom2: ok!

me: die. . . .die. . .

mom1: I know, we can go eat at the Crayola Cafe. I think it's over there.

Madison: No, Mommy, it's on the second floor

mom2: yes, I think that's in the food court

(this entire exchange taking place in one spot, as they freeze in indecision, causing a massive traffic jam)

mom1: No, I'm sure it's down by the Coterie Theater

mom2: huh-uh, I know it's in the food court

Madison: Mommy, it's right up there!!! (points up to cafe, in plain sight from the atrium, above their heads)

mom1: oh, aren't you a clever boy!

(they struggle to turn their bulky, oversized, square-wheeled strollers.)

me: excuse me, but could you please move? You're holding quite a few of us up here, and we'd like to pass by.

mom2: (under breath) people in the city are SO rude!