Flight Log | July 24, 2023

You could be forgiven for not knowing the precise internal logic of a depressed, suburban shopping mall. I forgive you this, at least, hoping that my little mercy is returned. And being that we are both strangers to this waning cultural hub, I assume you also didn’t know the opening hours nor the pre-open community of Mall Walkers who run the cavernous, air conditioned, halls. But let’s backtrack.

There is a certain type of aspirational consumerism that I unfortunately fell victim to. Considering myself to be a generally socially conscious and environmentally responsible person, I purchased my Iphone second hand – fooled by the branding of “recycled,” and in denial of the fact that really I was just looking for a deal. So with my new phone and 50 percent savings in my pocket I went about my life, until one day the LCD screen simply separated from the backing in a very alarming way. First one corner went, and then the whole thing popped off all at once. Or rather it only seemed to happen that way. In reality the internal stresses must have been accumulating for a long time, only to manifest on the surface in a sudden release of pressure. This is the method by which many things break.

This is not a metaphor.

This is Geology. The way the Mall building sprouts up in a sea of asphalt, like a mountain or some kind of moated castle. I couldn’t imagine a world in which all of these parking spaces were necessary, and parked in a far corner simply to have the pleasure of walking through as many of them as I could. Many spaces I am sure had never been parked in, the way certain trees in Montana feel like a person never walked past until you came along in your hiking boots. The automatic doors have not worked for a long time and the hinges groan – you discover this is not a mountain at all but some sterile, semi-abandoned Martian compound. Cynically sponsored by Auntie Annie’s and Foot Locker – dedicated to the preservation of capitalism in Space, or whatever, human life.

I thought the surviving stores would be open, operating as I was on the social contract that business hours are 9-5. I was wrong. Until 11:30, the mall belongs to the walkers. Hordes of them. Walking. They don’t all travel in packs, some go self supported with their fanny packs and cushioned shoes – they pedal along at great speed with a stepfordian smile plastered across their faces. I had no choice but to join in the flow, just to go see the other side of the Mall and ensure I wasn’t missing a secret second T-Mobile store who might miraculously be open at 10. I walked like a person at an airport, determined to go check my gate even knowing that the flight doesn’t leave for another hour and a half. They, the walkers, moved like missionaries – delighted to see a new visitor in their congregation.

From behind came the first unnerving attack, “GOOD MORNING!” she said, with extreme volume. “Uhh, hi.”

I am deeply unaccustomed to a world in which a slight grimace and moment of eye contact is not a sufficient greeting. I wish I could report that I quickly assimilated, but that would be a lie. Instead I put on headphones, hoping that nobody would realize my phone was broken and therefore no music was playing. This is also not a metaphor. Eventually, after about 35 laps and many more pained greetings, the stores gradually began to open. Chain link doors rolled up, exhausted workers switched on lights. It really felt like a second sunrise. And it took only 5 minutes for the phone technician to pronounce mine as well and truly dead.

There isn’t a grand lesson to take away from this story. Sometimes you just waste your time and wind up somewhere weird. But hey, at least I got in my steps.

A lot of things we do don’t really have any intrinsic meaning to them, we have to fill in those blanks ourselves. Like the index card that was left tucked into a borrowed book – an undefined opportunity until my friend wrote “bookmark” on it, sealing its fate as just that. The only question left in my mind is was it already a bookmark before the label, since it was serving that purpose? Or was it many things, currently serving as bookmark? Tomorrow, who knows, maybe a flashcard. What does it mean to be tied anyways? Is it just a physical manifestation of a dynamic or a feeling that exists before?

Maybe the best lesson rope taught me is that sometimes relationships need that physical manifestation. That love is an act, not a feeling. D/s is that too – or whatever it is I have for FavoriteBlanket. Admiration, a desire to shape and hurt her. A curiosity for what will happen next. She is a very good conversationalist.

And this one started as all polite conversations do – checking in, catching up on how we have been.

Although many people proclaim to hate small talk, it has its function.

You may start with the weather, but you don’t have to stay there. It’s just a gentler way to get into existential questions about our futures, and the different directions they are moving.