I've been reading a book about travelling by
Bill Bryson (and subsequently decided I need to read all books by Bill Bryson, travelling and otherwise). This post is a story about a journey I took yesterday, to an illustrious building known as St. Vital Centre. This post is brought to you by
PC Double Chocolate Crunch Cereal (if I could choose a blog sponsor it might be that) and
The Guys' 5-minute opus Man with a Mustache, which I keep meaning to send to my
dad.
I have only visited
St. Vital Centre 10 times or less in my entire life of living in this city. There were a few reasons for this. One is that I have never lived in the area, or in any area next to that area, nor have I ever had any purpose to go to the area or stick around for any particular length of time (school, work, friends/relatives, etc). Another is that every time I have ever tried to do any Christmas-related shopping or see a movie at its theatre on a Friday or Saturday night, I haven't gotten much further than the outskirts of a crowded parking lot rampant with middle-class citizens.
I departed work for St. V. with a few goals in mind. The first was to investigate the bus route, which was more than adequate, and the mall layout, which proved extremely pleasing. My other goals were to look for shoes (flats), and get some keys cut. I have visited other malls in the city far more often, so maybe it's just that familiarity breeds contempt. St. V. felt like a breath of fresh air after the many hours I spent at the other malls.
There's Portage Place, which shuts down in the early evening most days of the week. The downtown location is great for bus access, but not much else. I feel like I'm about to experience or at least witness a crime in at least 30% of the indoor space and 90% of the perimeter (not including the YMCA). Also located at P. Place: the one occasion I've ever seen someone shoplift, and I witnessed it up close. I watched someone walk out of Staples with a backpack, probably filled with merchandise though he may have just needed the backpack. He set off the alarm as he exited, and then ran away up Portage Ave, while the staff traded glances that said, I wasn't aware the 30% included our area.
There's Kildonan Place, which I used to visit often when I was 12 but grew out of around the same time I grew out of Claire's Accessories. Its blandness is simultaneously comforting and underwhelming.
Lastly, there's Polo Park, the largest mall in town and a multi-floored affair. Despite the number of stores, it's left me feeling hollow the last couple of trips. P. Park has Lush and Lululemon stores, which I used to frequent when travelling to other cities, but have lost their intrigue now that I can go whenever I want.
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Upon arriving, I made the decision to look at clothing, but not try anything on, fairly quickly. I've bought a relatively large amount of clothes in the past while, and buying random pieces instead of adding more holistically to my wardrobe (aka stuffed closet) would not make sense.
Also, while browsing at a clothing store (the name is escaping me), I noticed a table of camisole undershirts in different colours. They were 2 for $25... but wait, didn't I pay $18 for the exact same purple one just two weeks ago at Smart Set? Curious, I went to Smart Set, and found the same table of camisoles in all colours, still selling for $18, EXCEPT the purple one which was now on the discount rack. I have to remind myself that the majority of mall clothing stores share brands and clothes between them, and the best way to buy clothes at a mall is really to check every single store for what you need and then go back and buy later when you've found the best deal. It seems like a lot of effort; I'm not sure if I've ever known anybody to actually do that.
Also, I was tired, and didn't have the energy to try on five thousand pieces of awesome clothing. Even if there were huge sales on. Because that money tree I planted hasn't sprouted yet.
Overall, I found St. V. to be spacious and airy to walk around. I quite enjoyed browsing over a few hours. I was impressed that they had a sushi restaurant IN the mall. (I should add that in this city, I still get giddy when I see TV screens playing ads outside banks and the MTS Centre and other places, because we didn't have them a few years ago.) There is a gigantic food court that has both a cinnamon bun place AND a frozen yogurt place, so you don't even have to choose. Also, St. V. is getting a MAC store and a Costa Blanca store. I enjoy browsing MAC stores in other cities (due to my infatuation with weird eyeshadow colours and glittery eye makeup), and bought a lot of nice clothes from the CB I patronized in Calgary a few months ago, so I'm excited for both.
During my journey through the mall, I picked up many, many
Skecher shoes and balked at the price each time. Why are Skecher shoes so expensive, and beautiful? I ended up buying the flats I needed, and some other nice shoes (so that I stop wearing the one pair of Skechers I own with everything). I bought them at Payless, the most aptly-named shoe store of all time. I bought a couple of pairs of shoes for $4 each, no tax, at the Payless at the Mall of America a few summers ago. Someone must have been getting the short straw in that deal. How could those shoes possibly have cost that little?
I also scored a super cheap pair of winter boots at a closing sale. Another problem solved, since my old pair had just obviously just had its last winter. I didn't buy a hat, but I need one. I'm still secretly hoping someone will make me one of those knitted hats with cat ears. And also that someone will buy me this
book which I perused in Chapters and has simply marvelous photos. Note to self: search Fbook to determine if there is a self-help group for people who buy cookbooks for the pictures.
My voyage came to a close around half past eight, and I bussed back downtown. I thought I might wait a few extra stops to get off, in order to wait for and catch my transfer bus somewhere relatively well-lit and safe: the MTS Centre. Instead, I made the split second decision that the extra few stops might be too much fuss, got off the bus as soon as it was near my transfer, and made my way to a corner with a crosswalk. I was immediately approached by a panhandler mumbling something about money for his wife, who was standing next to him in some sort of stupor. I politely declined, crossed the street when the light turned, and waited for my orange chariot to take me home.
