The Whitwood War of 1987

The Turf Battles Begin

Whitwood Mall was not just a shopping mall in eastern Los Angeles County in 1987. It was a kingdom. A cathedral of consumerism. A shrine of shiny tiles, fluorescent tube lights, and the eternal perfume cloud that hovered between Millers Outpost, JCPenney and Sears like holy incense.

And in this kingdom, there were the rulers.

Not the mall cops, not the shop owners, not even the teenagers in ripped denim with teased up Aqua Net infused hair. The true rulers were the mall walkers.

Every morning, before the stores opened, they descended like a flock of vultures. Custom orthopedic sneakers squeaking, windbreakers swishing, brightly colored trucker hats preening, and stopwatch chains jangling like battle medals. They looped the corridors with military precision, setting the pace for the entire day.

And none was fiercer than their leader, Mildred “Speedy” Gomez.

She wasn’t fast because she had wheels. She was fast because she had legs like pistons and hips that could pivot on a dime. Her weapon was a hot pink fanny pack, loaded with tissues, butterscotch hard candies, and a stopwatch she wielded like a light saber.

Mildred’s rules were simple: The inside lane was for the veterans. The atrium seating outside of Millers Outpost belonged to the retirees. It was considered to be a fortress. The food court seating was theirs until early bird movies started showing.

Break the rules, and you faced the wrath of Speedy Gomez.

For years, peace reigned. But every kingdom invites rebellion. And in the summer of 1987, rebellion had a name.

Dimitri Volkov.

Sixteen years old, with a bladder full of Mountain Dew, and a head brimming with images from MTV music videos, he was the leader of a teenage band of misfits. They initially thought the video game arcade next to the food court was the new Rome, and they were the Roman Soldiers to bring it to ruins. But as the summer wore on, Dimitri and his crew wanted more than to play video games. They wanted turf they could run roughshod over. They wanted the rest of the mall.

And so it began with a small, unnoticed pretzel stand bribe. A free cinnamon twist slid across the counter to lure another mall walker out of formation. Then came chair stealing in the food court, guerrilla style ambushes with piles of spilled popcorn with extra butter, and hearing aid piercing boom box invasions. Before long, the mall echoed with battle cries louder than the piped in Muzak.

The mall war had begun.

The Pretzel Front

The first true clash happened outside of Millers Outpost.

The teens, led by Dimitri in his spray painted denim vest, marched in with armfuls of Orange Julius cups. They planted themselves at the bench in front, blasting Bon Jovi and Def Leppard from a boom box adorned with anarchy stickers.

Mildred appeared with her stopwatch in hand, flanked by Gladys aka “The Churro Queen” and Frank aka “Two Knees, One Brace.”

“You’re in violation of mall code subsection 3-B,” Mildred barked. “Bench loitering without a senior permit.”

Dimitri smirked. “You can’t stop the future, Methuselah.”

“First of all, Methuselah was a man. And secondly, I can stop the future,” Mildred snapped, snapping her stopwatch. “In 5 minutes or less.”

And the mall exploded into slapstick chaos.

Pretzels flew out of teenaged hands like boomerangs, striking the senior citizens with stunning accuracy. Orange Julius smoothies splattered across polyester slacks. A torrid chase ripped through JCPenney, with retirees using canes like billy clubs, and teens wielding arcade tokens like ninja stars. The Sears bedding section became a fortress of pillows being toppled, defended and rebuilt repeatedly. The perfume counter turned into chemical warfare as clouds of intermingled sample sprays blinded anyone walking by.

Mall security tried to intervene, but one guard slipped on a stray Wetzel’s Pretzel and tumbled down the escalator, taking two mannequins and three of his fellow security officers with him.

The war worsened and spread week by week. Bribes at the pretzel stand. Ambushes of batteries being thrown like hand grenades in RadioShack. Skirmishes in Spencer’s Gifts that left inflatable guitars deflated on the floor, and random adult content being flung around like dishes in a food fight. The mall was no longer safe for ordinary shoppers, unless you were willing to take evasive action like ducking behind the Sunglass Hut during a heated skirmish.

And at the center of it all was the unshakable rivalry: Mildred versus Dimitri.

Taunts and Challenges

Every encounter between the two became legendary.

“You walk too slow,” Dimitri sneered one Tuesday, blocking her path with his skateboard.

“You think too slow,” Mildred shot back, snatching the board and tossing it down a nearby escalator.

Another time, Dimitri scattered quarters across the floor in front of her while yelling, “Fetch, Grandma!”

Mildred didn’t even flinch. She scooped up the coins, stuffed them in her fanny pack, and said, “Thanks for my laundry money.”

The mall walkers adored her wit. The teens grew increasingly furious. The stakes grew higher.

It was only a matter of time before someone outside the battlefield became entangled in a truly unfortunate way.

The Arrival of Anatoli

One muggy July afternoon, just as Mildred and Dimitri squared off at the fountain, a deep and booming voice cut through the chaos.

“Dimitri!”

Both armies froze.

Into the food court strode a man with slicked-back salt and pepper hair, wearing a crisp tailored trench coat despite the heat. His accent was unmistakable, Old World and heavy with meaning and emotion.

“Dedushka? Grandfather?” Dimitri blinked as if seeing a ghost.

The man’s eyes scanned the carnage spread out before him. There were toppled food trays, soda rivers flowing in various directions, churro crumbs. And then his eyes finally landed on Mildred. His face softened instantly, like someone seeing the sun for the first time in decades.

“Mildred?” he whispered.

Mildred staggered back. Her stopwatch nearly slipped from her hand as she whispered, “Anatoli?”

Gasps spread through the mall walkers. The name rippled through the teens. Dimitri went slack jawed as he gawked.

“You know her?”

“Know her?” Anatoli’s voice cracked. “She was my everything.”

Mildred’s heart thundered in opposition to the seemingly forced stillness in the air she breathed. The years between them collapsed as if they had never existed.

Interlude: The Summer of 1949

The mall faded away as memories took center stage.

Mildred was seventeen again, standing at the Whittier High School dance. Anatoli Volkov, the new boy with the musical accent, held her algebra notebook and smiled at her like she was the only person in the room.

That summer was endless. Drive-in theaters with smuggled in friends in the trunk of the car. Ferris wheels with trembling hands at the Santa Monica Pier. Chalk hearts on sidewalks in Uptown Whittier. A teddy bear keychain won at the St Gregory church fair, handed to her with the words mia stella, my star.

They kissed at the top of the Ferris wheel as the sun set behind them over the ocean, and she swore the world spun only for them.

But Anatoli’s father had other plans. His family returned to Italy before summer’s end. Anatoli had thrown pebbles at her window, begging her to wait for him, swearing that their love could survive anything and he’d return. He gave her a pressed flower from the day they met, she made him promise he would keep it to remember her by. In return, she promised her love for him and him alone.

The next day, he was gone.

Mildred never stopped waiting for him. Never stopped remembering every kiss, every perfect moment they shared. Even as she aged, part of her heart always lived in that summer of 1949.

Love Rekindled

Back in 1987, Anatoli pulled from his coat pocket a fragile, faded flower.

“I kept it,” he whispered.

Mildred clutched the tiny teddy bear keychain from her fanny pack, the one he’d won her at the fair.

Their laughter through tears filled the mall. For one shining moment, the war paused, and both armies saw what real love looked like.

But Dimitri wasn’t ready to surrender.

“Grandpa, she’s my enemy!” he shouted. “She stole my turf!”

Mildred smirked. “Correction! I defended my turf.”

The ceasefire shattered. Dimitri waved his arms. “Everyone, attack!”

The mall war was about to reach its final climax.

The Final Showdown

The Whitwood Mall fully descended into madness.

At Mildred’s whistle, mall walkers stormed into formation. Gladys gripped churros in her fists like tactical batons. Frank duct taped tennis balls to his walker legs to improve its speed, charging in like a tank.

The teens retaliated with arcade tokens, flinging them like ninja stars. Stacy zoomed across the floor on a janitor’s cart, sloshing Orange Julius smoothies over everything in sight.

The Sears floor turned into a mannequin battlefield. Plastic arms flew like missiles, while the legs were used for fencing. Polyester blazers crumpled like flags of defeated armies. The escalators became dueling grounds, with stolen sporting goods equipment clashing like medieval lances.

Perfume testers went off all at once, filling the air with a choking haze of Chanel and Este Lauder. Someone hurled freshly baked Mrs Fields cookies like grenades. Ice cream scoops in waffle cones rolled underfoot like spike strips.

Shoppers screamed and ran for cover. Store managers pulled down gates and called the local authorities. The last standing mall cop tried to restore order but slipped on nacho cheese, tumbling into the wooden animal jungle gym, knocking himself out on the business end of the elephant.

In the center of it all, Dimitri and Mildred clashed like titans. Curtain rods and fanny packs struck with fury. He leaped from a planter, she sidestepped with the grace of a lifelong walker.

Just as Dimitri lunged for her, a voice thundered:

“STOP IT NOW!”

Anatoli.

He strode into the fray, each step commanding silence with only his presence. His coat flared like wings. His accent cut through the chaos.

“You fight this woman? This woman who is my heart?”

Gasps rippled. Mall walkers lowered churros. Teens froze mid throw.

Dimitri gaped. “She’s… her?”

Anatoli nodded. “She is the only one in my heart since 1949.”

Mildred’s cheeks flushed as her tears welled up. Anatoli took her hand, kissed it gently, and the mall fell into stunned silence.

Dimitri dropped his weapon. “Fine. You win. We’ll move to the strip mall. Nobody wants that place anyway.”

His gang groaned but obeyed. The mall walkers cheered. A boom box struck up Careless Whisper as the exit anthem of the losing army.

Anatoli and Mildred danced among the wreckage, spinning through pretzel crumbs and spilled soda, lost in each others eyes.

Sunset in the Mall

By evening, order was restored. Shoppers trickled back in cautiously, all whispering about rumors of the madness of the war. Security taped off the areas that had seen the worst of the carnage. The mall had survived.

At the food court, Mildred and Anatoli sat side by side, hands entwined.

“All these years,” Anatoli whispered, “I never forgot.”

“Neither did I,” Mildred replied, leaning her head on his shoulder.

The lights above them seemed to flicker. The music from the video game arcade softened. The Whitwood Mall felt, for once, like a cathedral again.

And when the automatic doors slid open and the night air rushed in, Mildred and Anatoli walked out together, into the sunset of Southern California, reunited at last.

The mall was theirs.

Forever.

The End