Lost at the Mall

When I was five years old, my parents took me on vacation to Texas. They took me to a mall in Dallas on the last day of our trip. Somehow, I got separated from them. I don’t think I realized I was lost until I found myself standing in front of a small brown door. I remember the door being somewhat out of the way of most foot traffic, but I could still see people moving up and down the escalators. Had I been older, I would have realized it seemed like a janitor’s closet, utility room, or storm shelter.

I don’t know why, maybe it made me feel safe, but I opened the door and went inside. The door led to a hallway lit by dim fluorescent lights. I rounded one corner and exited through another brown door.

I found myself outside in a mall parking lot. I don’t remember how, but a couple with their own children figured out I was a lost kid and took me to the police on duty at the mall. They had me wait in the mall manager’s office until my parents came to pick me up. I remember them crying and hugging me, but not much else at that point.

When I was five years old, all malls and big stores I visited were more or less the same place in my mind. It wasn’t until years later that I found out from my parents that I had been discovered at a different mall. Somehow, I ended up at a mall in Vancouver, Canada. And I had only been missing for two hours.

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