When I was very young, there was no outlay for an annual holiday—for airfare or hotel. Nor was there much money for the extracurriculars of daily life—the little leagues, the skating lessons—that every other child appeared to enjoy. My parents could manage the mall, so that’s where we went on weekends.
This is how we did it.
First, we parked near a department-store entrance. We never entered through the mall proper; we came at it obliquely, stealing in through one of its larger tenants, like the Bay or Sears. I don’t know why this approach seemed important, but it did. And my father always parked far away. He didn’t trust other drivers not to ding his paintwork.
