At The Mall

A couple of days ago, I was at the mall because I needed to buy some expensive gifts for my eight girlfriends. Something that showed that I was a caring individual with depth and soul and rhythm and jive. I made my way to Frederick's of Hollywood.

On my way, I bent down to pick up another one of the fifty-dollar bills I keep finding, and when I straightened up, I saw him.

He was standing with his knees bent for no reason at one of those mobile phone kiosks. Just standing there being terrible. It was Craig, of course. That explained why all the shoppers had started to look angrier and angrier the closer I got to him.

"That guy's awful," said a man, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at Craig as he walked past me.

Thinking quickly, I concealed myself in a potted tree before Craig noticed me. In retrospect, I don't know why I bothered. He doesn't notice anything happening around him unless he's actively being squirted with a fire hose.

I saw that happen once. He was asking some firemen if he could pet their "damnation" dog and drawing armpits on their truck with a dented Sharpie® marker with toothmarks all over it. The firemen finally blasted him across the street with their hose. He got all confused because he didn't recognize that side of the street, and walked soggily off. I hear he was missing for three days.

I squinted through the leaves. He was drawing armpits on the Sprint banner with a denty old Sharpie® and asking the kiosk operator if he could pet his damnation.

"Sir, I'm not entirely sure what you're asking. Do you mean dalmation? Like the dog?" the man said, quickly pulling the banner away.

Craig stopped and thought for a moment. He scratched his temple with his marker, scribbling all over the side of his head. His hat fell off. When it hit the floor, a couple of dirty pigeons fluttered out.

"Oh!" he finally squealed. "I want a Chalupa!"

"Sir, the food court is back that way, up those stairs," the kiosk man patiently explained. "Could you please take that phone out of your mouth?"

"What phone?" Craig asked, his voice muffled by the phone in his mouth. He spit the phone out onto the floor, where it landed on his hat. A couple of tattered old skunks waddled out from underneath it and disappeared into the Bed Bath and Beyond.

He leaned in closer, actually climbing onto the kiosk's counter and sticking his head under the canopy. "Did you know that typewriter ribbons can give you boils if you eat enough of them? See, look!" he screeched in that voice of his.

Finally, the kiosk man couldn't take any more and blasted him across the aisle with a fire hose. I chose that moment to make my escape before he could ask me if I had any corn flakes I could spare, like he usually does.

I haven't heard from him since. He's probably still in the parking lot drawing armpits on people's cars.