If you ever worked in a mall in the ’90s, as I did, you’re probably familiar with mall walkers. These folks did laps around the mall’s corridors, turning them into their own personal walking track. I suppose it was cheaper than joining a gym, and they never had to worry about getting wet or freezing to death.
(This was Santa Clara, California, though. The likelihood of bad weather was pretty slim.)
Over time, I grew to recognize the ones who showed up on a daily basis. Sometimes I’d wave to them or say hello. Eventually, this friendly gesture backfired when one of the regulars — an older gentleman with a bad combover and thick Coke bottle glasses, who always carried a Styrofoam cup in his hand (its contents remained a mystery: coffee? water? bourbon?) — took this as an invitation to chat. When we saw him pause mid-stride and make a beeline for Brookstone, my coworkers and I eyed each other nervously. This felt like a breach of etiquette, as if he were breaking the fourth wall.
We were right to be concerned, because the guy turned out to be paranoid, delusional, and possibly violent. He went off on a long-winded diatribe about how the government was evil and should be overthrown, and he might just be the anarchist to take action. This was a few years before Ted Kaczynski’s capture, and for a while there I wondered whether our mall walker might actually be the Unabomber. He seemed one apostrophe away from a detailed manifesto, one lug nut short of a pipe bomb.
He obviously felt comfortable with us, because these anti-government rants became a regular occurrence. If he wasn’t espousing some wild conspiracy theory, he was advocating for an army of foot soldiers to take down the Feds. It got to the point where he made me so uncomfortable, I’d hide out in the stock room whenever I saw him approaching.
I was relieved, but also a little surprised, when Kaczynski was apprehended. All these years later, I can’t help but wonder what happened to our mall walking anarchist. If he’s not dead, he’s hardcore MAGA for sure. Hard to say which fate is worse.
I hadn’t thought about my Unabomber suspect, or mall walkers in general, in a long time. But then I started working at CheeseGov — a big building with long corridors — and realized we have our very own version of mall walkers here, only these people are hall walkers. They make the same daily circuitous laps, the only difference being the scenery: instead of Sam Goody and Wet Seal and Cinnabon serving as backdrops, they’ve got cubicles and conference rooms and copiers.
I know this because, ahem, I am one of those hall walkers. Sitting at a desk nonstop is bad for both your physical and mental health, so I occasionally get up to stretch my legs, and will do a few laps around the 4th, 5th, or 6th floors to get the blood flowing. I used to feel self-conscious about this until I realized I wasn’t the only one strolling the corridors. And just like in the mall, I’ve begun to recognize the faces of the regulars.
But I’m older and wiser now and have learned my lesson: I go out of my way to not be friendly, I studiously avoid eye contact, and I never, ever exchange pleasantries, because who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men and women?
I’d rather not hear about someone’s plans to overthrow the government when I happen to work in said government, ya heard?
Take Me Out to the Ballgame
One thing I’ve seen a lot of in my recent hall walking: Milwaukee Brewers gear. Which technically goes against the CheeseGov dress code, but nobody’s cracking down on that. Can’t say I blame ’em. These guys are scorching hot right now! They have the best record in the major leagues, have won 12 straight games, swept four consecutive series, and are the first National League team since the 1935 Cubs to have multiple 11+ game winning streaks in a single season. Everything about this year feels historic.
The best part of all? Milwaukee is the smallest MLB market, and the Brewers’ payroll is the fourth-lowest in the league. This team doesn’t have a lot of recognizable names on their roster and can’t afford to bring in All Stars…but despite this, they keep winning. Again and again and again. The team chemistry is amazing, the coach is an absolute delight (pocket pancakes, anyone?), their passion for the game of baseball is inspiring, and their love for both the city of Milwaukee and the fans is unequivocal. At the risk of sounding sappy, I find this all poignant and uplifting. The feel-good sports story of the year, at a time when most of the news is bad verging on awful. Who wouldn’t root for the underdog?!
With the exception of Chicago Cubs fans, of course.
Regardless, it’s pretty universally accepted that they have one of the best logos in all of professional sports.
My love for baseball is deep-rooted. Six years old, walking home from school one day, I find a baseball card lying in the street. I dust it off, study it closely. It’s Davey Lopes, second baseman for the Los Angeles Dodgers. In that instant, I decide I’m a diehard Dodgers fan. When we move to Ohio two years later, we attend many Cincinnati Reds games…including several matchups against my Dodgers. I’m the lone spot of blue in a sea of red and I don’t care.
The thing about baseball is, my allegiances are fleeting. When we moved to the Bay Area during my senior year of high school, I began rooting for the Oakland Athletics. I rode BART to the Coliseum for many A’s games, smack dab in the Bash Brothers glory days. Jose Canseco and Mark McGwire, and a talented supporting cast that included Rickey Henderson, Dennis Eckersley, and many other skilled players. They won the World Series in 1989 against the Giants, their cross-bay rivals. I was ecstatic. Even a powerful earthquake couldn’t harsh my mellow.
Fast-forward another 10 years. I’m living in the Pacific Northwest now, and yep, a Seattle Mariners fan. I guess this makes me fickle?
I think the reason is simple: I like baseball, but I love football. That passion ignited a lifelong love for the Denver Broncos, who will always be my football team regardless of where I live. On the other hand, I have long found myself rooting for the local MLB team, which keeps shifting because of all the moves I’ve made. It’s fun to get caught up in the communal spirit of your fellow fans, and that will sure as shit never happen with the Packers.
Some might call me a bandwagoner, but I disagree. I bought my first Brewers t-shirt before we even lived here. Before they were this good. I just happened to have very good timing.
Does this make me any less of a fan? I guess that’s open to debate. Some people would say so, but I disagree. I may be a latecomer to the Milwaukee baseball scene, but I still consider myself a proud member of the Brew Crew. I know the players, I follow the games, and I proudly wear the gear. I’m pretty passionate about these guys, and since I don’t plan on moving ever again, the Brewers have a great shot at being my team for life.
In fact, we’re going to see them play the Phillies on Labor Day. I haven’t been to a major league baseball game in over 35 years and I’m pretty excited.
Oh, and in a strange twist of fate, my favorite childhood baseball player, Davey Lopes, went on to manage an MLB team for a few years after he retired as a player. I’ll give you three guesses which team that was, but I bet you only need one.
Maybe the Brewers have been my destiny all along.
Were you a mall walker? Ever meet anyone who gave you the heebie-jeebies? Do you like baseball? What’s your favorite team?
Mark My Words 
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