I was in a hurry in early August. There wasn’t much time, but I absolutely had to get a new polo for an upcoming event and would be out of place without one. If I had used a little more discipline and forethought, I would have visited Target (no bully on the tranny bathroom boycott). Instead, nostalgia got the better of me and I decided to shop at what’s left of Virginia Center Commons (VCC). Once the premier mall of Central Virginia, VCC can now only be described as a wretched hive of scum and villainy. Even in the daylight, I needed to be cautious.
You can probably already guess how the decline happened. Around the early 2000’s a newer mall was built about 20 minutes away from VCC. Instead of on the border with the Richmond North Side ghetto, this new mall was in the developing and (at the time) majority white area of the West End of Richmond, Short Pump to be exact. The West End is essentially Northern Virginia now and the area was once fertile farmland, rednecks and WASPy preps that had fled Richmond during the White Flight of the late 60’s and 70’s. It’s still preppy, but the country flavor of western Henrico County is gone and mass consumerism has replaced it – that, and an aircraft carrier worth of pajeets.
Once Short Pump Mall was built, it was sayounara for VCC. The whites left, the nice stores eventually closed and the airbrush t-shirt shops and tattoo parlors opened up. Even normies know not to go to VCC anymore – especially, on Friday and Saturday nights. The parking lot block parties start when the sun goes down and you’d be a fool to patron the mall not carrying (legally, of course).
A buddy of mine was on plain clothes duty once at VCC after the transformation. An older couple hadn’t gotten the message that the mall wasn’t for us anymore. A pack of dindu nuffin “youths” made a TNB comment to the elderly woman and her husband attempted to defend her good name from the group of rambunctious teens. By the time my buddy-cop got to him, he was a bloodied heap on the floor with a broken collarbone and busted ribs. If I recall, I’m pretty sure he died from the assault considering he was in his eighties.
But, the VCC of my youth was a lot different from the desolate husk that it is today. Even as a kid in the 1990’s, I can remember how nice it used to be. That it was a special event when my dad would take me. The now almost abandoned food court was bustling when I was younger. It was practically all-white and you’d think Jim Crow was still around in the mall’s heyday (minus when you visited Foot Locker). With skylighted hallways and decorated with giant palm trees, this was Disneyland for a family without the resources to drive to Florida and pay premium for a theme park.
I remember once that the mall setup these large scale animatronic dinosaurs for the kids to awe at. This was around the time that Jurassic Park came out and the mall was jam packed with kids and their parents. My parents took pictures that dinosaur weekend at VCC and, feeling a little sentimental, I opened up one of our old photo albums and strolled down memory lane. Might as well have been Mars – considering our current state of decline. The aging photos revealed practically all-white families and modestly dressed. Unlike today, circus freaks were missing from ambling around in the background. Children were playing in the food court, while their parents sipped on cold beers and soft drinks. Minus a few changes in the clothing, these photos could have been from the 70’s or the 80’s.
It’s all gone now though. We know why and it’s depressing.
I thought about the old VCC when I visited the dying mall in August. The parking lot was worn down and giant cracks were beginning to show. Out of the cracks new life was growing to slowly replace the old asphalt that had been neglected. It was noon, but the overhead lights were strangely on. The one I parked underneath was flickering and not working properly. I doubt it’s been fixed. It was never like this as a kid. It had been maintained, respectable and clean. This is what happens after White Flight.
As I walked in, I spotted swarthy men (likely Arabs of some sort) in skinny jeans and bugmen shirts sauntering around the parking lot. Their hands full with gaudy-designed shopping bags. I thought it bizarre for a workday in August, but not surprising. They seemed blissfully unaware of the degraded state of VCC’s parking lot. For us, this is a shame and a warning. For them, this is fine.
Dillards closed down years ago. Macy’s too. So, my only option for the polo was Sears – that was surprisingly still open. The whole mall was a cross between a ghost town and the main location in the 1978 film Dawn of the Dead. The mall walkers were old and strange and the only ones working the kiosks and still-opened stores were blacks.
I bought my polo and made my way to the exit. I saw only one other white patron, a soccer mom on a mission. She’d probably made the same mistake I had. She clearly wasn’t wasting time to smell the roses.
As I got in my truck to leave, I spotted a school bus pull up. A gaggle of loud and cackling non-whites disembarked from their subsidized transport. More ghouls to feast on the remains of VCC.