I like to live dangerously, so I made up my mind to go buy a Christmas present for Alexis when I had her with me. I did it last year, so I knew that if I walked into the Disney Store and told them I was being a sneaky snake, they would help me acquire a fancy clearance Halloween costume without the kid catching on to my shenanigans.
As Alexis and I pulled into the mall parking lot, I reminded her about the big TV in the back of the Disney Store. I figured if I gave her advance permission to be a brat and take off while I was shopping in the middle of the store, she wouldn't catch on to the fact that I was hiding something from her. It was a truly brilliant plan, except for the part where I didn't even think about the fact that there might be a reason we should steer clear of the mall.
My first hint was the Woody walking through the parking lot. My second hint was the Ghostbusters strutting their stuff in the car next to us.
Trick-or-treating. At the mall.
I have taken Alexis to that mall every year to trick-or-treat. It was sort of a necessary evil before we moved because our old neighborhood was the exact opposite of kid-friendly. Now that we live in the land of holiday-crazed freaks who manage to make me look like Scrooge, it's no longer an issue. The kid will get way more than a sufficient amount of candy and such on Halloween.
Despite my experience with the mall trick-or-treating, I was all, "Hey! Look! It must be trick-or treat night! Do you want to put on your costume?" It happened to be in the car because Alexis had her Halloween party at school today. I should have had crazy pills in the car for myself because that would have been a much faster way to accomplish what was about to happen.
Trick-or-treating. At the mall. I do believe there is no faster way to find your way to insanity.
Hundreds and hundreds of people lined the hallways, each not-at-all patiently waiting for a chance to get a tiny little piece of candy from each of the stores. They pushed. They shoved. They were rude. Over and over again.
I watched as a woman with an infant dressed as a chicken pushed her way in front of some 8 or 9-year olds for a Tootsie Roll. I'm pretty sure the kid wasn't the one who was going to eat it.
I watched as a woman with an empty double stroller rammed some toddlers out of her way for a Jolly Rancher. I don't even know where her kids were hiding. In her pocket? Inside the bag she held out for candy? In her mind?
I watched as a group of plain-clothes teens took advantage of a store clerk not paying attention and took handfuls and handfuls of that crap bubble gum that breaks your jaw if you chew it more than three times.
I had no idea some people were so desperate for junk candy.
Next year, I have a plan. I plan to help the people . . . I plan to bridge that gap between the desperate people and their beloved Tootsie Rolls and Jolly Ranchers. Next year I'm going to buy a bunch of bags of each and I'm going to stand on the second level of the mall. I'm going to lean over that center rail and throw candy down to the throngs of desperate people on the first floor. And then I'm going to watch as they destroy one another fighting and scrambling and scurrying and clawing and kicking and smashing.
For a Tootsie Roll.
(Shhhh! Don't tell the short person, but a Jasmine costume found its way into our Disney Store bag. $15. BAM!)