The Red Dot

I risked sanity recently by shopping at the Mall. Like most men shoppers, I have my mind made up long before entering the circus of strollers, slackers and model wannabes who wander the cavernous halls of consumerism America. I said ‘most’ men, because if only men shopped, Fruits of the Loom, beer and Brookstone’s vibrating chairs would be in short supply.

Of course, there is a genre of men who love to shop, especially with their wives. I am not of that group. I do, however, encourage women at every opportunity, especially the wives of friends out of some sense of comic revenge. Their husbands revile me for this.

And there is a certain group of men shoppers whom I can only classify as voyeuristic gawkers. They’re easy to spot. They stand at a distance, the timid ones, and gaze longingly at the sexually explicit windows of Victoria’s Secret and a myriad of other lingerie shops that line the walls of malls. They think they escape detection. When they think no one’s looking, they actually enter the stores, and dreamingly fiddle with the merchandise. Can you guess what they’re thinking?

But today I only need a funeral tie. Not that I actually have a funeral to attend, but I want to be prepared with the latest style just in case. You see, the day before, my wife also had a dream. Seems I was driving along the interstate, eating a burger with one hand, drinking a shake with the other, the cell phone cradled on my shoulder. Oh, did I overlook the small detail of driving with my knees? I’m always prepared! And I needed a tie.

So I stand here, gazing at a map depicting a color-coded layout of the mall’s stores. The code reads: “You are Here.” A red dot marks the very spot. You’ve seen these maps, right? Each store has a code number corresponding to a chart for the store locations. I study the colorful layout. Soon other men gather. They appear equally confused. We began to talk, mostly cursing the designer of such a maze. Finally we do what most men do, just wander off, muttering, “To hell with directions,” hoping to stumble into where we’re going.

I take out my compass. It indicates a right turn. It turns out to be prescient. And after wandering around that mindless mall, I sit down on a bench. Opposite me, in some kind of trance, sits a heavily-bearded man in a lotus position, palms in a prayer pose. He chants oms and has a red dot on his forehead. I have to admit that a yogic guru in that place is disconcerting, but interesting. I watch and listen. He is death-still. I marvel at his transcendence amidst such a cacophony of confusion.

He senses my presence, opens his eyes. They glitter, wild and steely-blue. I ask, “Man, what are you doing here, zoning out in some hypnotic trance?” He’s silent. I fidget, ask, “Are you homeless?” He remains mute. I say, “Are you ill, hungry, drunk? And what’s that red dot on your forehead?” In a small voice he says, “I’m confused.” Finally, an honest man!


He says he was at a rest stop on I-75, seeking his life’s direction. He says the road map on the wall had a red dot indicating, “You are Here.” He says he thought, Far out, dude, and began to follow red dots on every map he found. Says it led him everywhere, but he never seemed to find out where he was. Says it’s all a government trick.

But he says life was never the same for him after that. He says that the red dot haunts him in his dreams. He sees red dots everywhere, saying “You are Here.” Says to beware of red dots. Says cameras are everywhere. They put red dots on every footstep a man takes. He becomes manic. I leave him to himself.

I find my tie. Heading back I pass the mall sign. Another group of men stands there, confused. When they leave I take out a bottle of red nail polish and put red dots all over the map.

I contemplate sitting on a bench nearby with a red dot on my forehead, waiting to see what happens next! What would you do?


Bud Hearn
February 24, 2011