dispatch from the mall on Christmas eve

oh the times

When I was in high school, I worked at the restaurant at the mall in our town. It wasn’t just any mall. It was the biggest mall east of Montreal.

That’s quite a mall.

Not a super mall, nor a super store.

But a mall of remarkable mediocrity.

I was a dishwasher. At it’s best, I would sing and horse around and have a great time with my coworkers.

Other times, people were frantic, flailing and run off their feet.

Then there were the times when the manager was cranky. We couldn’t play. We couldn’t laugh. If I ate a french fry from the stainless steel bowl under the heat lamps, I would get ‘written up’. (not sure what ever happened to those letters but they seem laughable now)

At its worst, I would drift off in my imagination. I don’t remember the dishes I washed. I do remember imagining what I would buy with my earning. I remember calculating, down to the minute, how long it would take, how many hours, shifts, ramekins, and slotted spoons would pass by until I reached my goal.

Those times were br…