The secret of shopping complexes unveiled
I'm not sure if you call them malls, but they're those gigantic prison-like buildings that host dozens, dozens, dozens, and perhaps yet dozens of different enterpreuners in attempts to sell their goods out. Being a piss-poor student (right), today I grabbed myself and made my way to the nearest monument of inhumanity in order to pick some new clothes off the summer sales (yeah, a lot of sales here start after midsummer).
Of course, the whole building is cramped (aren't people supposed to be at their ****ing cottages) with guess what, families. There's the hangaround teenagers (harmless), the regular customers (that bring the money), and the families (that buy something but bring the whole herd in to enjoy the shopping). The families are the key here. Shopping centers attract families like an virgin ass in a Swedish prison attracts cock. Why? It's the only place where you can just abandon your (insert a pic of a dutch tricycle used to haul around kids) kids to run off free or hang around near their transports and enjoy the shopping. Of course, the chances that the six-year-old will enter a mélee with a truck are largely dimunished by the fact that it's a massive, closed building. If the kid manages to get lost, you'll just need a shop clerk to shout the kid from wherever he's destroying other people's attempts of a peaceful shopping spree.
So, once the families that have parked their child-carrying vehicles of doom and destruction in the middle of the shops in order to prevent other people from walking around normally, the kid starts screaming (and no matter how heavy duty earplugs you use, you'll hear the scream cutting through your ears. if you can't hear the scream, it's highly likely that the kid, having a running contest with his siblings, manages to run face up your ass and leaves a strange drool mark right between your buttocks. bloody hell). When you're annoyed enough by all this shitness, the only salvation is the liqour store (which conveniently advertises "escape to Alko", where Alko stands for the monopoly liqour store), or shop like hell. As the liqour store is far away from where you're standing, your only way to maintain some level of sanity is to adjust the volume of your walkman and buy stuff.
Roughly 400 euroes poorer, I'm back home, with whatever sanity I had left before I made this daring attempt dramatically reduced.
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