Being on the road a lot for my job, I know
pretty much where all the important spots in Connecticut are located. No matter
where I am in the state, I know where the nearest Mobil station is if my car is
low on gas, and where the nearest Dunkin Donuts is if I am low on glazed
crullers.
I also know exactly where all the malls
are located. This is not because I enjoy shopping, but rather because I’ve
learned that malls have fairly clean restrooms. I used to stop at fast food
restaurants if I needed to use the facilities, but it seems in some of these
places they clean the restrooms about as often as Hillary Clinton says, “It was
my fault.” I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel very comfortable when I
walk into a men’s room and can’t tell what color the porcelain is because it’s
covered in a quarter-inch layer of moss and mold. Besides, it’s very difficult
to use the bathroom while wearing one of those full-body, Haz-Mat suits.
Whenever I stop at a mall, I accomplish
two objectives. First, I answer the call of nature. My second accomplishment is
the fact I get some exercise. This is because it’s a federal law that no two
malls in the country can be constructed in the exact same configuration, which
means all the stores and all the restrooms are located in different spots from
mall to mall. OK, maybe it’s not a law, but there must be some kind of solemn
pledge all mall owners take, promising to lay out their buildings in such a way
that even experienced visitors have to wander around quite a bit to find what
they want.
All this walking gives me a fairly good
workout. And on those occasions when the nearest parking space is half-a-mile
away from the mall entrance, I get a fantastic cardiovascular workout — not so
much because of the long distance, but because by the time I reach the men’s
room, I’m practically sprinting, fearful that I’m about to do something I
haven’t done since age 8, when I dreamt about being at Niagara Falls and woke
up rather damp.
Anyway, visiting malls has made me
realize a new semi-human species has evolved in recent years. The technical
name for humanity is Homo Sapiens. My guess is scientists have named
this new species Victorius Secretiens. Most of the clothing stores in
malls now display in their windows larger-than-life photos of this mutant
breed. (At least I hope the photos are not actual-sized. Otherwise, these freak
chicks are twelve feet tall!)
The distinguishing features of these
bizarre creatures include large eyes, large lips, large breasts, and abdomens
no bigger than my forearm. When I look at the shoppers in the mall, the normal
humans, I also see a lot of large — but in different places.
The strangest sights in the mall,
however, are the many normal humans who are wearing the exact same clothing
worn by the semi-human creatures in the oversized photos. A skimpy,
midriff-baring outfit looks odd enough on a body that is twelve feet tall, 105
pounds, with measurements of 48-18-34. But when that same skimpy outfit adorns
a normal human body that is five-foot-two, 165 pounds, with measurements of
34-38-42, it’s a little scary.
The only thing I can figure is this new
semi-human species possesses some kind of sinister mind control power, which
causes normal humans to lose sight of what they really look like. Thankfully I
still know exactly what I look like, and we’d all be a lot better off if
everyone wore what I wear while out in public: a full-body, Haz-Mat suit.
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