The word is that the mall is dying: something about kids these days, something about online shopping, something about the food court’s legacy going the way of the three-camera sitcom and the middle class. I wasn’t allowed to be a mall kid, and I coped in a move so adjacent to Disney adults it makes my nose bleed - I’m a mall adult. The feeling blended with the taste, whether it came in the form of rubbery mystery meat from Sarku Japan or whatever vegetable they decided to put on top of the cardboard dough at Sbarro that week.
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The TV shows I obsessed over would airdrop their characters at the mall dressed in clothing far more disposable than the Styrofoam containers full of prop food they ate out of: There, they’d exchange information, silently judge one another, fall in love, and plot out the rest of their fictional lives in a way that made me want the same.
I went in with a framework for what it Meant. “I’m a bit of a foodie myself,” he says.Īs a kid, I entered the mall food court with more than just my mom and 10 clammy dollars. “Can you talk to me about the food court for five minutes?”Ī 15-year-old named Earl nods sagely, eating garlic fries and wearing a winter jacket with the tags on. “I write for a magazine,” I tell two teenage boys in Anchorage, Alaska, at the fifth-floor summit of a dying mall.
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