FAIL

Crown Center. An institution whose magnificence is relayed twice in a two-word name, like Golden Paradigm or Diamond Pinnacle.

A place where my stroll on the gridlocked sidewalk was met by the 2200 gallon-per-minute majesty of the Crown Center Square Fountain. The one that was in full operation despite the single-digit temperature and gale wind. But this was not the climax of the venture.

After being misdirected to private, towable parking lots 3 times by the browbeating attendants, I was finally led into a garage, where I descended enough layers of strata to determine its geological history. Conveniently, the lot was coded with alphanumeric regions, colors, and numbered elevators. No way was I getting lost this time, I told my cell phone’s voice recorder.

“Jay-one. Twenty…four…sixty…orange.” Disappointingly, no concussion grenades were hurled into the vicinity.

Once in the elevator, I saw a button labeled Hallmark walkway with a star next to it. I recalled a number of facts:

1. Crown Center surrounds the Hallmark world headquarters.
2. There is a large walkway that weaves through the mall.
3. Stars indicate important floors and locations.

After this simple exercise of deductive reasoning, I pushed the button. So imagine my surprise when the doors parted to reveal only a coded security door and fire exit.

I stood there confused. Was Hallmark fucking with me? Had they devoted extensive resources to painstakingly and maliciously plan this? Was I Michael Douglas in The Game? “That’s ridiculous,” I thought as I turned around to get back on the elevator. And then I saw this:

Thanks Hallmark. Now I know that once I’m in your grasp, there is no escape.