The Hellscape

Yesterday I did a bad thing and a good thing. The bad thing I did was to withdraw the money from my defined contribution plan that covered the last three years I worked part-time in Georgia. No, it wasn't that much money, but the advice my husband had given me was to roll it over into an IRA. Instead, I withdrew the money, deposited most of it in a newly-opened savings account and some of it in a newly-opened checking account in a bank near my new home. Then I went shopping. 

I really don't like to shop, especially in the kind of shopping centers that plaster the area where I have moved and that plaster most of America's cities and suburban areas, what my husband calls "The Hellscape," acres of parking lot in front of big-box buildings. 

What I loved about the place from which we moved is that the local community (one of the densest populated in Georgia) had made a conscious effort to recreate a real downtown, with businesses lined up along sidewalks and parking available in designated areas behind businesses or in parking garages.  Trees lined the streets. Tables were set out in front of restaurants.  An art gallery was located next to an import shop which was located next to a coffee shop where local kids read their poetry on Friday nights. Several good restaurants were within walking distance of my house, a mile from downtown. I could walk the shady sidewalks of my neighborhood and within fifteen minutes arrive at a bookstore or at my hairdresser's or at a restaurant where I could order an excellent margarita.

Not so in The Hellscape. You are damned to arrive only by car--everyone in his or her own car, all the cars stacked up at the three-eyed (or four-eyed if there's a left-turn lane) traffic light that guards the way into The Hellscape. And once you've arrived, and parked, and walked the steaming hot pavement (for this IS south Louisiana) to the somewhat shady portico of the building you're headed for, there are few surprises left to anticipate. All the stores are all the stores you will find in any other Hellscape, and the products sold are products you would find in any other Hellscape store. Maybe you'll find something on sale. 

To shop, I drove to a larger Hellscape from a smaller, labyrinthine Hellscape. The labyrinth had been designed, evidently, to test the orienting skills of the newly-damned. I failed--even with a printed Google map and a satellite photo of the shopping center where the Louisiana Division of Motor Vehicles was located. I had to make a phone call to my husband, who had earlier navigated this labyrinth of Chinese restaurants, pawn shops, and car title stores. 

Once I escaped the Division of Motor Vehicles (where I had to pay a very hefty amount of money to make my car Hellscape legal), I headed to the Big Box Hellscape. Here, at least, there was a bookstore, a Big Box bookstore, but one where I was able to find the books on my reading list even though I had forgotten the titles of those books and the names of the authors. I remembered enough to be able to scan the shelves to find what I needed--and even to pick up a book that was not on my list but which captured my attention as one I might like to read.

And that was the good thing I did: I went shopping for books. Well, I think, probably, the better thing I could have done was to go to a library and check out those books, but I can't be TOO good.

 

(Click on the photo above to see the books I'm anticipating reading. My son immediately snatched up David Eagleman's Incognito: The Secret Lives of the Brain and is almost midway through it.)