But lately there is one travel restriction that I find to be absolutely ridiculous and almost unbearable. The restriction? No strollers on the escalator at the mall. Why no strollers? I don't know. I don't see stickers plastered everywhere restricting any other four wheeled vehicles from using the escalator. Does that mean if I was traveling via, say, a riding lawnmower I am good to use the escalator? What if I was pushing one of those media carts that your elementary school librarian used to push the laser disk player and TV on. Ahhh, laser disks. Do you remember laser disks? You know, a paper thin disk the size of a tire swing that played low definition movies. Can't believe those didn't take off. Anyway, I guess I could take one of those on the escalator, because it isn't expressly forbidden.
Why all the whining? Why not just take the elevator, you say? Have you ever tried to find an elevator in the mall? They put one in each department store at opposite ends of the mall. As if fighting your way through a sea of prepubescent teens to another zip code wasn't bad enough, you then have to hope the signs will actually lead you to the elevator. I swear one department store we were in made you circle the store twice before finally coming to the elevator stashed in the furniture department. Who knew department stores had furniture departments? Who says, "Hey honey, lets go to the mall and pick up an Orange Julius and a chaise lounge?" I swear, its like trying to find a warp zone on Super Mario Brothers. The other option is to use the one well-marked elevator out in the open. The only problem with that, is that anyone with a stroller is also looking for that same elevator and the line looks like cattle headed to a slaughterhouse. When (or if) you actually make it to the elevator you get jammed in to a shoebox which clearly is not made to hold more than 2 people let alone the SUV's of the stroller world. And once you're in there, the tension builds. Here you have two estrogen enraged mothers each with this new bundle of joy in their lives. They are used to people gawking and oohing and ahhing over their little man cub. Along for the ride are the husbands who in the event of a physical altercation would be forced to make some attempt to protect their baby's mama. The akwardness is potent and nauseating, like a fart in the shower. Its like bringing two sumo wrestlers to an all-you-can-eat buffet, egos will be crushed and someone's going home hungry...for attention. Rarely can the silence last. It is usually broken by some lame line like, "So... how old is he, or...uhh... she?" Having spent years creating akward silences, I am never the one to crack under the pressure and actually relish the opportunity to watch the other couple squirm. You can almost see the discomfort pour out of the opening elevator doors as the couples back out their little baby movers, careful not to make eye contact with each other.
All of this could be avoided if they would just let strollers on the escalator. What is keeping me from giving it a try? I know what you're thinking, "You don't seem like the type to follow all the rules. Especially the dumb ones." I mean really, will some kind of alarm go off if I take the stroller on the escalator? The truth is, at the bottom of the escalator sits Frankie, "The Triangle's Smallest Balloon Artist." Honestly, do they really expect me to believe that a there is seriously a midget balloon animal maker? Come on, it is too obvious. And too convenient. Franky is clearly an undercover agent sent to keep people like me from enjoying the convenience of an escalator trip with my family. So for now Frankie and his escalator mafia win and I am relegated to riding the elevator. Which I guess isn't the end of the world, as I did see a nice entertainment center last time through.
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