Ranging from mildly to severely claustrophobic (concert pits are the only exception since idols trump everything, obviously.), I tend to steer clear of bustling shopping malls during peak hours. I either plan a trip for the first or last three hours of operation, simply too avoid crowds, nasty lineups, and incompetent customer service representatives.
Yet at Yorkdale, I had the joy of experiencing all three of the above tragic situations.
Mannerless tourists from Mainland? Check.
Exasperatingly slow service? Check.
Sales reps that not only talk down on their clientele but offer negative service? Check.
Pressed to fulfill my duties with just under 60 minutes, I honestly could have done without the snarky attitude, counterproductive comments, and repulsive idiocy. (For those wondering: avoid the Zara customer degradation reps and moronic, brain cell-deprived "muses" at Kate Spade.)
Seeing as the next return bus was not due for at least fifty minutes, I headed over to Cafe de Paris to briefly check out their fruit cups. The Bon Bons had earned excessive hype several months prior, receiving numerous mixed reviews, specifically in regards to value.
The process lasted for a total of two minutes, and I strode up to order a Mini Mango Bon Bon after that. After punching the item into the machine, she ducked her head behind a navy curtain and relayed my order to the man behind it. While I had assumed that the curtain had been present to separate the kitchen area from the cashier, this was soon discovered to be false; the skeleton-like man emerged from the area and started mixing (something) at the outer edge of the cashier area at a level camouflaged from view.
Upon flinging open the door to the stairwell, a waft of sewage-like grease hit me. I made a 90-degree maouver and began to descend the stairs, only to witness the shocking sight of a building standard basement.
Indeed, not a single element beyond the ground floor had undergone interior decorating. The stairs were barren, the floor cold and chipped, and the walls naked and insulation exposed. Cardboard boxes had simply been tossed in a corner where it would be out of customers' direct line of sight. The only other component of the floor was a single stall bathroom, of which the light switch was still grimy with the smeared fingerprints of construction workers post-renovation.
Inside was the toilet, a water droplet-splashed mirror, dust-covered sink, dollar store soap (with its green-and-yellow Dollarama label intact), and a singlular roll of toilet paper. Some eccentric folks may deem this setup as minimal, but I'd just describe as the result of minimal effort.