A few years ago, I was stuck at the Minneapolis airport when my flight was cancelled. The airline was putting me up at a nearby cheap motel and the shuttle driver said, “At least you’re next to the Mall of America.”
Everyone else murmured approvingly while I shook my head. They didn’t know my guilty secret: I hate shopping. It’s almost un-American to say so, but I find the whole experience overwhelming—too-many people, too-many choices.
“Never mind,” I say after twenty minutes. “I don’t think I need anything.”
But now I did need something. Separated from my suitcase, I had only a complimentary toothbrush and toothpaste. So when my flight was cancelled for a second day, I ventured into the Mall of America in search of underwear and dental floss.
The man at the information desk said no one had ever asked for dental floss before. I browsed for twenty minutes and bought some underwear.
Everyone else had big smiles and big bags, while I went looking for the exit. And I wondered if my definition of Hell might be having to shop for all eternity?
Everyone else was in Heaven.
