Katja 02: Making the shopping mall less boring (M/f)
Posted: Mon Aug 11, 2025 5:20 pm
This is part of a growing series of Katja stories that starts with
Katja 01: What's a collar without a leash? viewtopic.php?t=23816
Katja 03: A question of peg and chain viewtopic.php?t=23881
Katja 02: Making the shopping mall less boring
One regular part of Katja's and my cottage summers is a weekly trip to the shopping mall in the nearest town. There's nothing special about this mall — it's like any other around the world. Except for two things:
First: whenever I go there, I almost always run into someone I know — an old friend, a former schoolmate, or a neighbor. These impromptu reunions usually turn into long, nostalgic conversations. Katja, of course, finds these unbearable. She’ll prance around impatiently, give me exaggerated sighs, and later complain about "those boring grown-up talks."
Second: the baggage lockers at the mall entrance. They're made of sheet metal, have plenty of ventilation slits ... and the largest size is just big enough to fit one bored twelve-year-old girl.
So the next week upon entering the mall, I surprised Katja as I directed her to the lockers.
“If you can’t stand my grown-up talk,” I said with a grin, “I can just leave you here.”
She looked at me wide-eyed but grinning, her expression saying: "Maybe my dad isn't quite as grown-up as he pretends to be?"
We looked around. The coast was clear. No one in sight. Katja quickly stepped backwards into one of the largest lockers. Height and depth were comfortable, width was a little tight, but overall a perfect fit for a girl that gets bored easily.
I pulled out a 1-Euro coin — required to engage the lock — closed the door, and called out through the metal slits:
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back. After all, I need my Euro back. And now: stay quiet!”
With that, I headed into the mall. I did my shopping in record time — and, of course, this time I didn’t meet a single person to talk to. In the queue at the cashier I made a mental note: with Katja safely tucked away, there were no pleas for snacks, no begging for magazines, and no "can we go to the toy store?"
About twenty minutes later, I returned to the lockers. There I had to wait another ten minutes until the coast was clear again. When I finally opened her locker, Katja was absolutely beaming — excited, chatty, and bubbling with energy.
After loading the groceries into the car, we treated ourselves to lunch at one of those ubiquitous fast food restaurants. Over burgers and fries, she gave me a detailed report of her locker experience.
What she heard (everything).
What she could see through the slits (not much).
How her legs started to hurt but how she managed to find a way to sit.
How - just when it became a little boring and she started to feel like another piece of luggage - a lady tried to open Katja's locker.
She wasn't sure how to react - remain silent and hope for the best or ask the lady to kindly go away. Finally the lady realized her bags were actually in the locker next door.
And then, the final verdict:
“Can we do this again, daddy?” she asked, eyes sparkling.
“Oh — and did you know there are lockers with clear Plexiglas doors at the other end of the mall? The biggest one looks just like the one I was in today. It would be so cool to sit in there, on display like in a showcase, waving to people as they walk by!”
On the way home, my grown-up side finally kicked in.
Of course, it had been wildly irresponsible:
What if the mall had caught fire?
What if she’d gotten a cramp, or panicked, or fainted?
What if I had a heart attack?
What if mall security had spotted us on camera?
What if someone had called child services?
When I told Katja there would be no next time she seemed honestly disappointed. For her shopping with me or staying in the locker seemed to be two viable options.
Half seriously I offered to lock her in the cottage's broom cabinet as often as she wanted but apparently this hadn't the same appeal to her.
And yet…
This was one of those small, slightly reckless adventures that etches itself into memory.
One of those stories we’ll tell and laugh about when I’m old and she’s grown.
Katja 01: What's a collar without a leash? viewtopic.php?t=23816
Katja 03: A question of peg and chain viewtopic.php?t=23881
Katja 02: Making the shopping mall less boring
One regular part of Katja's and my cottage summers is a weekly trip to the shopping mall in the nearest town. There's nothing special about this mall — it's like any other around the world. Except for two things:
First: whenever I go there, I almost always run into someone I know — an old friend, a former schoolmate, or a neighbor. These impromptu reunions usually turn into long, nostalgic conversations. Katja, of course, finds these unbearable. She’ll prance around impatiently, give me exaggerated sighs, and later complain about "those boring grown-up talks."
Second: the baggage lockers at the mall entrance. They're made of sheet metal, have plenty of ventilation slits ... and the largest size is just big enough to fit one bored twelve-year-old girl.
So the next week upon entering the mall, I surprised Katja as I directed her to the lockers.
“If you can’t stand my grown-up talk,” I said with a grin, “I can just leave you here.”
She looked at me wide-eyed but grinning, her expression saying: "Maybe my dad isn't quite as grown-up as he pretends to be?"
We looked around. The coast was clear. No one in sight. Katja quickly stepped backwards into one of the largest lockers. Height and depth were comfortable, width was a little tight, but overall a perfect fit for a girl that gets bored easily.
I pulled out a 1-Euro coin — required to engage the lock — closed the door, and called out through the metal slits:
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back. After all, I need my Euro back. And now: stay quiet!”
With that, I headed into the mall. I did my shopping in record time — and, of course, this time I didn’t meet a single person to talk to. In the queue at the cashier I made a mental note: with Katja safely tucked away, there were no pleas for snacks, no begging for magazines, and no "can we go to the toy store?"
About twenty minutes later, I returned to the lockers. There I had to wait another ten minutes until the coast was clear again. When I finally opened her locker, Katja was absolutely beaming — excited, chatty, and bubbling with energy.
After loading the groceries into the car, we treated ourselves to lunch at one of those ubiquitous fast food restaurants. Over burgers and fries, she gave me a detailed report of her locker experience.
What she heard (everything).
What she could see through the slits (not much).
How her legs started to hurt but how she managed to find a way to sit.
How - just when it became a little boring and she started to feel like another piece of luggage - a lady tried to open Katja's locker.
She wasn't sure how to react - remain silent and hope for the best or ask the lady to kindly go away. Finally the lady realized her bags were actually in the locker next door.
And then, the final verdict:
“Can we do this again, daddy?” she asked, eyes sparkling.
“Oh — and did you know there are lockers with clear Plexiglas doors at the other end of the mall? The biggest one looks just like the one I was in today. It would be so cool to sit in there, on display like in a showcase, waving to people as they walk by!”
On the way home, my grown-up side finally kicked in.
Of course, it had been wildly irresponsible:
What if the mall had caught fire?
What if she’d gotten a cramp, or panicked, or fainted?
What if I had a heart attack?
What if mall security had spotted us on camera?
What if someone had called child services?
When I told Katja there would be no next time she seemed honestly disappointed. For her shopping with me or staying in the locker seemed to be two viable options.
Half seriously I offered to lock her in the cottage's broom cabinet as often as she wanted but apparently this hadn't the same appeal to her.
And yet…
This was one of those small, slightly reckless adventures that etches itself into memory.
One of those stories we’ll tell and laugh about when I’m old and she’s grown.
