An interesting day at the mall
Saturday, my fiance and I found ourselves at the Manhattan Mall for reasons too weird to get much into (namely, a downpour and an open bag of popcorn in our hands).
As we sat down on the rim of the mall's unused fountain to eat our Garrett's Popcorn (get the mix, get the mix, Oprah ain't kidding, this pig is addictive), we joined a group of rowdy Midwestern high-school tourists who were busy taking snapshots of each other in New York's most compelling tourist attraction, the Manhattan Mall basement. Shortly, a security officer came along to shoo them away. We sat there still, figuring as locals, we had a right to park our cans anywhere in the Manhattan Mall that we damn well pleased, especially since there were no signs reading "Please do not eat your delicious popcorn on the bench around our nonworking, eyesore fountain." But no -- the rent-a-cop soon got in our faces, shouting, "AM I SPEAKING ENGLISH, OR NOT?" as if we were a group of, I don't know, loitering teenage Mexicans? Si, senor, it was all very strange.
Since we felt compelled to keep shoving fattening popcorn into our maws and didn't want to sully the fine merchandise there with caramel and nuclear orange butter-flavor powder that quickly worked its way into our cuticles, we moved to the food court and sat down at a table. I soon noticed that the chap across from me was ranting to himself as the contents of an egg roll dribbled out of his mouth; the fiance suspected he was cracked out and seeing things. As we got up to leave, some raving voodoo lady standing by Sarku Japan (where I definitely recommend you get sushi someday) cackled at my fiance that he sure must "like the crazy ones. She crazy!"
Yeah, lady. I'm the crazy one.
And yet, my day at the mall was not nearly as weird as it must have been on the day that Improv Everywhere struck:
As we sat down on the rim of the mall's unused fountain to eat our Garrett's Popcorn (get the mix, get the mix, Oprah ain't kidding, this pig is addictive), we joined a group of rowdy Midwestern high-school tourists who were busy taking snapshots of each other in New York's most compelling tourist attraction, the Manhattan Mall basement. Shortly, a security officer came along to shoo them away. We sat there still, figuring as locals, we had a right to park our cans anywhere in the Manhattan Mall that we damn well pleased, especially since there were no signs reading "Please do not eat your delicious popcorn on the bench around our nonworking, eyesore fountain." But no -- the rent-a-cop soon got in our faces, shouting, "AM I SPEAKING ENGLISH, OR NOT?" as if we were a group of, I don't know, loitering teenage Mexicans? Si, senor, it was all very strange.
Since we felt compelled to keep shoving fattening popcorn into our maws and didn't want to sully the fine merchandise there with caramel and nuclear orange butter-flavor powder that quickly worked its way into our cuticles, we moved to the food court and sat down at a table. I soon noticed that the chap across from me was ranting to himself as the contents of an egg roll dribbled out of his mouth; the fiance suspected he was cracked out and seeing things. As we got up to leave, some raving voodoo lady standing by Sarku Japan (where I definitely recommend you get sushi someday) cackled at my fiance that he sure must "like the crazy ones. She crazy!"
Yeah, lady. I'm the crazy one.
And yet, my day at the mall was not nearly as weird as it must have been on the day that Improv Everywhere struck:
posted by Had To Move at 2:48 PM
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