The Briarwood Bazaar

I was recently at the mall with my wife, which is a rare occasion in itself. She needed to get a few things for her upcoming trip, as we wandered through the staring eyes of the Sears employees looking for "fresh meat" we finally reach the central nervous system of the huge soccer mom behemoth. As we walked down the main strip we were bombarded with a mecca of foreign salesmen straying outside their kiosks trying to get you to buy their plastic helicopters, bad perfume, pencil drawings of famous movie actors in their roles they made famous, leather fringed hand bags, cell phone covers, sparkly necklaces, and shiny belt buckles. Being of half Middle Eastern heritage,it reminds me of my father and his joy for the American flea markets we used to ALWAYS attended every Sunday. Now Ive always wanted to visit Cairo, its huge bazaars up and down its streets, but why fly thousands of miles when I can go 5 or so miles down the road and see Cairo just outside the JC Penny entrance in the mall? My wife, and even myself, hate it when they approach you like some maniac trying to get you to buy their product. Maybe if they weren't wearing their god awful cologne, or dressed like Yanni, I could at least get close enough to say F-off! I am the son of an immigrant, the son of man who enjoyed some of things that reminded him of home or his youth. I can understand someone like my father who might have thought about checking out that shitty plastic helicopter. I just hate to think that's where this society is headed. Sure, I like a good deal as much as the next guy, but geez!, keep Egypt in Egypt, keep Iraq in Iraq, India in India, give us a taste of what is wonderful about those cultures and not what they think is a money maker there and shove it up my nose when I'm just trying to get to Brookstone!