Arlo

National Gift Shopping Day is here (aka Black Friday; the day after Thanksgiving; the time we run out of excuses not to play Christmas music on every other radio station), and my recon at Thanksgiving wasn't too informative. My guesses are usually fine if I don't wait until the last minute.

I haven't done much actively furry stuff lately. Retrocomputing and photography have been the latest shiny objects in my field of vision. The latter is something I can enjoy with my partner when we go out on walks together and go to conventions and such. Still hoping to improve my technique in time for a furry meet...wait, oh god, most of them have fursuit heads, right? I don't! Unlike my photos, apparently, I'll be EXPOSED. But that's probably fine. If I see a coworker there, then we're mutually aware of each other's weirdness. Whatever.

The winter holidays are an AFK time of year, but I want to stay active-ish in the meantime.

I stopped at Walmart to pick up a new lunchbox (I'd ruined my old one in an incident involving frozen peas). Back when I worked at one over a few summers, there were a couple evenings where a tired bat in a mostly empty part of the store would endure a group of chattering, giggling teenagers. This was back when they were selling those cheap mascot-style animal heads, which itself was a real trip to see all gathered in an iron basket for $20 each. Some product designer, I assume, became vaguely aware of furries when one of their kids was looking at fursuiter pics on the social feed du jour, and they figured out a way to mass-produce animal heads so kids everywhere could beg their parents for one and get bored with it after a week. Chances were good that the teens would try them on for a lark.

They didn't have any intention of purchasing the things, nor were they shoplifters. They were just hanging out, making each other laugh, killing time. Walmart, whether the Subway by its customer service gland was open, was a hangout spot. Laboring under soul-blanching fluorescent bulbs all day, I didn't know why.

Back to today, driving out of the parking lot. Three girls, probably late-teens, were loitering next to a red car, Slurpees in hand, in no hurry to get anywhere. One sat cross-legged on the pavement with her cigarettes while they talked. I had the A/C cranked; why were they out here? They didn't seem to be waiting for anyone. I can't say this is an innovation from chilling inside the Walmart, there are at least benches in there. It seemed to be more incidental, a rest stop between places to go—but that's it, isn't it? Where, as someone living in the Midwest and not old enough to drink, do you go when you're not at home?

My personal answer is "a friend's house, the library, the game store, and nowhere." I didn't have local friends I could just bike to on nice afternoons, and my parents wouldn't haul me out there and back. The library, while nice and quiet, isn't conducive to social activity unless you convince them to host some kind of event. I could get to the game store on my bike, but without money, I didn't have much to do there, and I didn't get into Magic like all the regulars did. Wandering around town unsupervised was also a bad idea, according to natural conclusions drawn from the one Stranger Danger-type VHS we had.

The Polaris mall is the only one I knew of, and I don't think anyone at school ever hung out there. Still, there were several cartoons that insisted that malls were super-cool hangout spots, and I felt like the neighborhood was missing something because of that. What it was actually missing was somewhere to go and just be with your friends and peers, no need for money or bug spray (trails were also an option, as my boyfriend told me). Not that I would've availed myself of such a place, as I was (and am) quite the hermit. Maybe it would've helped to have those sorts of opportunities earlier in life. As it stands, I now have the ability to go anywhere, go to a bar, meet people, and the very idea tightens my jaw and makes me wish I could lock myself in a tower.