I went to the mall last night for the first time in ages. I typically shop at one store where I can drive up as close to the entrance as possible and gather as many items from as many departments necessary to keep me from visiting another store for as long as humanly possible.

Last night, I knew I needed to visit a number of stores for a number of items; gifts, back-to-school supplies, food etc. So I started at one end and snuck my way around to the other.

The first store was Zellers where I quickly grabbed what I needed and was second in line behind a woman in a rather saggy, perhaps even soggy track suit, with two young daughters, none of whom had seen a bath in several days.

The woman was quietly discussing the price of her daughter’s running shoes with the girl behind the counter and touching the computer screen with a fake nail wondering why the price didn’t appear reasonable in her mind. She questioned, “I thought these were buy one get one?” A mistake we’ve all made and I wasn’t there to judge. When she was told, “they’re buy one get one 50% off” she stared again at the screen, touching it, scratching it with her nail, slowly grazing each line item, confused, quietly non-confrontational but requiring explanation.

She was so confused in fact she had confused the young girl behind the counter who called for help at least three times but all staff members were on their Zellers company-mandated- all-at-once-break and no one was available to rescue either of the two stumped women each with a pair of shoes in hand staring blankly at the laces.

At this point the line-up behind me had grown unacceptable and in my softest most helpful mall shopper voice, I tried to explain to the woman and the clerk that the shoes with the highest price tag were being charged in full, the other two lower priced pairs were charged at 50% off.

Everyone agreed this was reasonable and the woman touched my arm and thanked me quietly.

It was a long wait but I was relieved to continue motoring around the mall like the surprisingly helpful person I was.

I made it as far as the Bay at the far end of the mall when I heard words I’ve never heard and likely never will again, “Hey! It’s the math tutor!”

I turned to see the woman in her sweat suit and two daughters still pushing the now stolen cart from Zellers toward me. I wasn’t sure if she was going to knock me over with the cart or try to strike up a conversation. Looking back, I think I would have preferred violence.

Sweats: Could I hire you to be my math tutor?

?

Me: Me?

Sweats: Yeah. I’m finishing my high school diploma. I left my husband five years ago and I’m depressed eh?

All of my former math teachers rolled over onto their cardigans at that exact moment.

Me: Well, I wish you well, it’s not easy going back to school but I’m the wrong person to help you with math. (My brother who was forced to tutor me and would say things like, “She can’t be helped, she’s retarded!” Can insert snicker here)

I tried to walk into the Bay. I could see the perfume counters and had tuned out sad lady while mapping my route through the make-up counter maze so as to avoid any conversation or unwanted spritzing. It wasn’t an easy course to manoeuvre but with a couple of “oh look at that!” while dodging and high jumping at least two counters there was a way to get around all twelve lab coat wearing women loaded with advice on how I could look a hell of a lot better than I do.

 Sweats: Long story short, could I hire you to be my…(oh my God, she’s going to say it. Please don’t say lover. Do NOT say lover. I have a hard time saying no) tutor?

Why had this become so uncomfortable? It started as a friendly shoe shine at Zellers but had become totally creepy in front of The Bay and I couldn’t just walk away because there were children involved. Clearly her husband had already done that. I couldn’t be the second one to abandon poor Sweats.

Sweats: You don’t know what it’s like. I have two kids and no help.

Me: I actually have three kids but I’m very lucky to have lots of support.

Why the f%$# am I sharing any personal details with this stranger? Fingers crossed I don’t blurt out my address and an invite for a bbq this weekend. Sometimes I can’t be helped.

I wished her well, careful not to turn my back on her lest I get a shoe to the back of the head, but while wandering toward my make-up counter hidden tunnel picked up the pace.

I visited the house wares and children’s sections and made my way back down the escalators towards the exit but there she was. Sweats was still lingering outside the door, her daughters playing hopscotch on the tile floor waiting for Auntie Liz and her calculator to reappear and make everything better.

Here I was, alone for the first time in months, shopping without the kids, walking freely, able to browse without interruption and I had found myself a good old fashioned stalker with a hankering for algebra.

Essentially, I hid in The Bay for what felt like forever. I thought about that book turned movie about the girl who lived in Wal-Mart and wondered if it was possible but quickly realized there would be a royal rumble between me and the lab coats if we had to live together for any length of time.

When Sweats became distracted with the engraving guy polishing his display I did a kick-turn into Stitch-It and bemused myself with a pair of pants tacked to the wall until I could safely slink through a series of stores until finally sprinting to my car.

If there’s one thing that scares me more than mall friends, it’s math.