Cami Ann Miller
Minar
Creative Writing
19 April 2012

The mall was a lot busier than normal. Relatives of high school graduates swarmed to buy last minute shallow gifts. They praised these kids like it was some huge accomplishment to graduate high school.  It's not exactly the most challenging thing to do. All you really had to do was show up and halfway pay attention. It was even easier now to accomplish now with all the handheld technology being snuck under desks and slid into pockets. Don't know the answer to number twenty-six on your history exam? Why don't you just Google it on your iPhone? If kids can't graduate high school today then they aren't trying.
As for me I graduated right before the boom of smart phones unfortunately and only graduated with a 2.5 GPA from my severe test anxiety and social incapability. Despite that I did manage to move on to a fairly decent school to become an environmentalist but work wasn't exactly knocking at my door so I continued to work at the small café serving mocha frappes and tiny cakes. It was not the job I wanted but I wasn't complaining too much because cafes attracted cute hipster girls and my dreadlocks attracted them to me. It was the perfect situation to receive phone numbers on napkins and make their day by writing their name on their cups of dessert coffees with a little heart doodle next to it. If I knew how to do anything it was that I knew how to make girls blush and giggle like mad.
Of course back in 2005 when I started working here with my buzzed head and severe acne no girl even shot a glance my way unless it involved a look of disgust. I used to be such a creepy little pervert with my braces and Metallica t-shirts. I was thankful every day that I found out that was not flattering in the slightest to be hit-on by someone who looked like my 2005 self.
I watched as the shoppers dwindled down less and less until there were only no more than twenty left. I sat behind my counter with my cheeks resting in my palms and blankly watched a little boy across the hallway of the mall yank on a balloon his mother had tied around his wrist. He tugged and tugged and watched in awe as no matter how hard he tried to ground the balloon, it just floated right back up. He tried this about seven more times before finally throwing his head back and wailing an ear-shattering screech. I let out a puff of laughter as his mother picked him up and coddled him a bit to get him to quiet down.