I hate the mall. Given the choice between going to the mall and taking an anal suppository, I would take the bum pill. It seems better to literally stick something up my ass than feel the deeper, more metaphorical ass-probing I’m treated to at the mall.

I went to the mall twice over the Christmas break. The first day I bought a receiver for my record-player. The second day I returned it. It seems the sales clerk, professing expertise he didn’t actually have, sold me the wrong one.

As is my custom, I left the mall in a pissy mood. I don’t believe a fun trip to the mall exists. When I find the product I came for, I leave with buyer’s regret; when I leave empty-handed, I feel I wasted the day — brainwashing myself by staring at consumer goods for hours on end. I always leave thinking I would have been better off spending my time reading, walking or, yes, even inserting a pill up my bum.

The mall experience seems dehumanizing. Whenever I set foot in that place it feels like I boarded some scary amusement park ride. The whole time I am bombarded with glowing neon lights and noisy crowds. And all around me people are prodded along this ride — through underground parking, down aisles and up escalators, upon which I feel like livestock ascending to the killing floor.

But we always emerge from this fantasy ride, equipped with souvenirs showing “I survived Consumerism: The Ride!” And these souvenirs, just like our Disneyland ’92 ball caps, usually wind up collecting dust in our basements.

Driving home from the mall, I told my sister how the mall depresses me. I added that I figured some humans live only to work, shop and eventually die. My sister clarified that it was me and my worldviews that were depressing. She also pointed out how even a hermetic hippie like me needed to buy some things. I couldn’t argue that.

But I take my business to the mom-and-pop shops whenever possible — to places with warmer ambiance and smarter staff than you find at the mall. Still I understand, while many of us prefer shopping at these hipster-certified stores on Broadway and downtown, sometimes we don’t have the cash. Chain stores are more affordable, which is a damn shame because I’ll rue the day when we only shop at malls.

When I’m in an independently owned store I feel like myself, but when I’m in the mall I feel like a nameless consumer. Entering the mall, one is immediately brought down to the lowest common denominator of our culture. We are there to buy cheap goods, period. There is hardly a beautiful or inspiring reason we go to the mall. Buying gifts is probably the closest thing.

If our society decided to only shop at malls — like many in the suburbs are obliged to — what will that say about our consumer preferences?

It will say we only want to eat greasy, deep-fried food. And everything we buy — like music, books and clothes — must be purchased brand-new. It will say we refuse to spend good money on the few consumer goods that may actually improve us as people, because if you try buying something like a bike or guitar at the mall, you probably won’t find any models worth more than $150. And you definitely won’t find anything made with quality craftsmanship.

The popularity of mall junk is ultimately consumers’ fault. After all, we keep driving to the mall instead of places with well-manufactured goods — like bike shops and music stores. There’s a saying that consumers “vote with their dollars.” So I guess we’re voting overwhelmingly in favour of the lowest quality goods, so long as we get those goods at similarly low prices.

I feel a little guilty damning this form of consumerism. Buying the cheaper thing shows frugality. And forgive me for being schmaltzy, but the less material wealth you have, the richer you are in spirit. Still, I don’t think mall shopping, even with the sinfully low prices, actually saves people money.

I’ve adopted a philosophy in recent years that keeps me not only out of malls but also out of debt. Well, it hasn’t put me any further in debt than I already was.

I decided to start buying fewer things, but also to pay good money for the things I want. After years of buying countless cheap jeans at the mall, which I never liked, I decided to shop at a preppy clothing store. I now have just two pairs of jeans, but they’re exactly what I want. And I assure you, owning just a few choice possessions is more satisfying and cost-effective than owning piles of crap.

To the mall-goers of this world, though, I’m missing the point. To these people, shopping is less the business trip I see it as, and more of a hobby or an amusement park ride, if you will.

But for anyone like me, who doesn’t get their kicks at the mall, who also might prefer that anal suppository, I beseech you: adopt my philosophy and avoid the mall. Avoid it like the plague.

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Photo: deymosD/Flickr