Chapter Three - Spencer’s Gifts, Soap Temples, and the Forbidden Escalator

CHAPTER THREE

Spencer’s Gifts, Soap Temples, and the Forbidden Escalator

I WALK PAST a kiosk selling bedazzled phone cases shaped like glittery avocados.
The vendor asks, “Are you happy with your current level of sparkle?”
I say nothing.
He nods like I passed a test I didn’t know I was taking.

Two steps later, I’m ambushed by the Dead Sea Salt cartel.
She’s got the little sample in her hand before I even blink.
“Let me show you something.”
I don’t protest. I haven’t protested since 2008.

She exfoliates one of my hands until I can see my childhood in the reflection.
“You feel that? That’s clarity.”
I tell her I can’t afford the $92 mineral pack.
She gives me a sample anyway and whispers, “You’ll return when you’re ready.”

I continue on—moisturized, confused, and maybe... wiser?

Then I see it.
Spencer’s Gifts.

It radiates the energy of a portal.
Blacklight posters. Lava lamps. A disturbing number of things shaped like pickles.
I enter like I’m breaching sacred ground.

A shirt says “Sarcasm is my cardio.”
A coffee mug says “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my emotional breakdown.”
Someone in the back is buying LED lights that flash in sync with dubstep.
There is no natural light in Spencer’s. Time does not exist here.

A lava lamp gurgles knowingly.

I find myself inexplicably holding a novelty calendar called Goats Doing Yoga.
I don’t remember picking it up.
A cashier with a nose ring and ancient eyes says,
“Don’t ignore the signs.”

Outside the store, I notice an escalator I’ve never seen before.
It leads down.
Deeper than the parking garage.
Deeper than should be possible in a single-story mall.

There’s no sign.
Just a small sticker at the top:
“For returns... or revelations.”

I hesitate.

But then I hear someone shout,
“Bro! Auntie Anne’s is giving out cinnamon sugar knots!”

And like that, I’m gone.
Back into the crowd.
Saved by the carbs.

Totally normal.
Definitely not dodging destiny.
Not yet.