It is late November and the weather has been unusually balmy in New Hampshire.  There have been a few cold days but generally speaking, we’ve been lucky this fall and have enjoyed the delay of true New England winter temps.  Still, a warm fall means that you really aren’t thinking about the Holidays and all that you have to do or, more accurately, buy.  Before we know it Thanksgiving is over and December 1st is at week’s end.  So, on a whim and while the kids are still in school, my buddies and I decide to go to Boston to start our holiday shopping on a Wednesday.  I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that we also wanted to see if we could help Santa and the Hanukkah Angel out when it came to our own presents.                

As soon as the kids are out the door, we collect each other and take off.  The drive is long since we are hell-bent on going to the best shopping mall around – the one that is an hour away in Boston.  But we have our coffee, saltines for the one who gets car sick, gum and loud music. The drive is uneventful with little traffic.  This really jazzes us up since there is never a traffic free day in Boston.  This trip was totally meant to be.  We can already imagine our beautifully bagged loot.       

Naturally, we start in Nordstrom.  After all, how can you not?  It is one of the last beautiful pillars of elegant shopping.  During the holiday season, Nordstrom has a pianist serenading its customers while they shop and the store’s restaurant is warm and dark, providing bubbly and snacks as you ponder your purchases at the end of the day.   One friend, we’ll call her Diane, talks about how wonderful Harrods is in London, with its champagne and oyster bar.  Nordstrom is as close as we can get to that shopping experience in New England.  So, we are all in.

After cruising Nordstrom we make our way to the mall to see what we can find in the other pretty stores.  Of course, this can all be done online these days but what fun would that be.  Plus let’s face it, it is a play date for us.

The first stop in the mall is the toy electronics kiosk.  Why there you might ask?   Well, about a week prior, my friend Allie bought herself a karaoke microphone in this same kiosk.  This is no surprise to us since she is our dancing and singing party buddy.   The microphone totally suits her.  But today she is getting the same microphone for a couple of her friends for Christmas.  After cruising this kiosk for a few minutes, I too decide that the mics are actually pretty fun and buy one for each of my two younger kids.  They are pretty musical and would love irritating each other and us with them.  I’m sure I’ll rethink this after Christmas but for now, it’s the perfect gift.

After this, it’s time for lunch at the Cheesecake Factory, which is on the other side of the mall.  It’s pretty empty on this midweek Wednesday so we get seated straight away.  As we peruse the menu, we start talking about what a great day it’s been and how amazed we are at the deals we’ve scored.

And then, just like that, everything changes.

All of a sudden the restaurant is filled with a loud siren type noise.  I don’t just mean a beeping sound like what you hear when you take a sensor out of a store.  I mean a piercing high-pitched siren.  I imagine that the siren from the Seabrook Nuclear Power Plant sounds like this when there is a nuclear accident.  You can hear this sound for miles so that there is no doubt that it’s time to get the Hell out of town.

Besides recognizing this sound, another instinct flares up in us.  The “ohmigod it’s a terrorist attack” instinct.  Because now these seem to be a weekly occurrence in so many public settings, everyone starts freaking out.  Especially us – three super sensitive moms who constantly worry about the occurrence of random acts of violence.  At this point the entire restaurant has begun to frantically glance around, trying to look like they are not worried but obviously scoping out the closest door.  Managers are stalking the floor, circling the room and eventually hitting the roof to try to figure out what the Hell this noise is.

By now people are starting to leave.  Waiters are pissed.  We try to finish our drinks before getting out of dodge, all the while discussing how to escape if there is a bomb or other attack.  Although I immediately see that we are against a window and an exit to the parking lot, I say “Shit, we will get blown through the window if it’s a bomb.  There’s no getting out.”  This is the impetus we need to take one more quick sip and pay the bill.  The restaurant is now completely wigged out and the managers are racing around.

As we race to leave the restaurant Allie stops short, knocking Diane and me to our knees.  It is a wonder that we didn’t break a leg in our mad scramble to get out.  Then Allie says, “Holy shit you guys it was me!  It’s the microphones!  Listen.”  We are still stumbling our way to the door as she holds the pretty golden mic to our ears.           We can hear the siren clearly from the speaker on the microphone.  We look at each other trying to decide whether to laugh hysterically or panic because of the riot we’ve just unwittingly caused.  We fumble over each other getting to the door, all the while arguing about whether to tell the restaurant manager or not.

Allie wants to run right back and fess up.  “I have to it’s my fault!”  However, as Diane jumps up off the floor she pipes up in her “Ima in charge” voice and says, “No way, we are out of here. We’ll get sued by someone if we don’t run”.  Diane is a landlord and is always waiting for the next “your uneven kitchen floor has injured me, lawsuit”. Her voice cracks as she yells, “The law will come down hard on us for causing a scene and someone might claim a sudden hearing loss.  We could lose everything!”  At this, she wins and we drag Allie and the mics out.

As we are running away, now in the mall, we figure that the Bluetooth function of the microphones must have interfered with the speaker system in the restaurant causing the sound.   At this point, all four microphones we bought are buzzing and beeping.  It’s all we can do to keep our packages from tangling us up and bringing us down again as we run in shame to the next restaurant, where we will see if we can do it again.

Best.  Playdate.  Ever.