Y'ALL TO THE MALL

I recently went to the Burlington Mall.

To anyone and everyone who doesn't live on the North Shore of Massachusetts, you will have no idea what I'm talking about, but the Burlington Mall was, in its hey-day, the place to shop. It had so many anchor stores, small stores, shop carts, and eateries (from candy shops to the infamous food court), that you could get lost there for hours and never pass the same way twice.

Now, though, it's a near-empty wasteland. Turn the wrong corner and there's a good chance you'll be mugged, raped, or murdered, and no one will find you for weeks. Except for the food court and various restaurants, the place is a morgue. Apparently, consumerism died here and mummified itself. 

So, when I have occasion to go meet family at the Pheasant Lane Mall in New Hampshire, I'm completely skeptical and a bit leery of entering the building without mace and a whistle. The Pheasant Lane Mall was supposed to rival the Burlington Mall, except that soon after it opened, it was deemed structurally unsound. I decided I didn't want to be squished by a girder while trying on bathing suits in JC Penney, so I never went there. The only time I'd set foot inside that mall was to meet a friend in a restaurant there.  Quick in; quick out.

The Pheasant Lane Mall has been open since July of 1986, and, since it hasn't collapsed yet, I think it's probably okay to go walk around inside of it. Besides, it's probably a ghost town like its North Shore counterpart, right?

Thankfully -- wrong.

The Pheasant Lane Mall is thriving. People are shopping, stores are open, and, except for the super-creepy family bathrooms, the place feels relatively safe. There are no empty hallways, no boarded up entrances, and there are still a few anchor stores. I don't even worry about being abducted while walking across the parking lot -- a fate I felt certain of when at the Burlington Mall.

I meet my brother, his wife, and their youngest at a pizza place, then we hoof it through the mall. My nephew hits several stores then we gather in the tiny mall arcade (which is, thankfully, deserted) and play a few games before other people wander in. 

We don't even get to half of the stuff that's there in the mall. It's such a polar opposite to the Burlington Mall that I am equally shell-shocked albeit from sensory overload rather than sheer terror for my life.

Of course, the mall's continued success could be because it is in tax-free New Hampshire and mere spitting distance from the wonderful state of Taxachusetts. But it's a bit off the beaten trail, so I am fascinated by its bustling success on a Tuesday after a long holiday weekend. 

The good news is that I would definitely go there again and would not feel frightened like Mariel Hemingway in the movie Lipstick. The bad news is that I now feel compelled to spend tax-free dollars in a mall that has long-since outlasted any structural concerns and has spit in the face of economic disaster and online shopping.

If only Burlington Mall could get their shit together, the world might be a happier place.