The Call of the Mall : * Shoppers pack the Glendale Galleria parking structure, disregarding earthquake-induced fears.

We have learned much from the Jan. 17 earthquake. For instance, who knew that there would be widespread, post-quake, suburban hysteria known as “mall-withdraw al?” Yes, when an earthquake damages or closes San Fernando Valley shopping malls, Valley residents can muster only so much patience. Then they will hazard any traffic situation, not to mention feelings of claustrophobia, to find a mall, any mall. So it was no wonder that on a recent weekday, the fully functioning Glendale Galleria, a sort of Mother Ship of malls in the Valley anyway, reaped the rewards of this stir-crazy bounty as our fear of being indoors was overcome by an urgent need to sip an Orange Julius while listening to a salesman playing “Lady of Spain” on a Wurlitzer organ that comes with a convenient payment plan:

1-1:10 p.m.: We enter the parking garage off Central Avenue. . . . PARKING GARAGE?! (Rapid, cinema verite flashback to disturbing newsreel images: CSUN, Northridge Fashion Center. “Trapped.” “Twisted metal.” “Steel beams.”) Yes, these are our soul mates--fellow citizens who have repressed some very primal death fears to sit bumper-to-bumper in a multilevel parking structure while aftershocks continue to top 4.0 on a regular basis. We are proud to be among them, even as we curse them for bringing our already snail-like progress to a complete halt, waiting for a woman with three kids, a stroller and eight shopping bags to slowly pack up her car. Finally, we find a space, celebrate briefly, then try not to breathe fumes as we make our way to the mall entrance.

1:10-1:20 p.m.: We enter to find ourselves in what can only be described as the M.C. Escher wing of the Galleria--there are three levels to Nordstrom, but only two connect with the mall, and by the time you get to the other end, the two levels of the mall have shifted to coincide with two different levels of the three-story Broadway. But we have survived a 6.8 earthquake and handle disorientation well. In Nordstrom, we are immediately reassured, because spring frocks and swimsuits are on display, a sure sign that life goes on. But we find recent events have colored our appetite for merchandise. When we see bathrobes and pajamas, we wonder if we could have looked a little more fashionable during that surprise 4:31 a.m. meeting with the neighbors in the street. But as we’ve taken to sleeping fully clothed now, we press on.

1:20-1:35 p.m.: In the mall, we find no signs of earthquake residue save cans requesting relief donations that are prominently displayed by merchants. The Nordstrom-Mervyn’s wing of the mall has a number of specialty stores such as Guess?, the Disney Store and a Rand-McNally map store, which features a South Pacific Handbook display in its window, perhaps an homage to the “You know, I bet we could get jobs in Tahiti” concept that sprang to mind during a certain 30 seconds in January. At merry Toys International, a selection of board games suitable for no-electricity evenings under curfew. One of them is even “Shakin’ Sorry!” Thanks a lot. A healthy run of customers in the Autumn Harvest store. Stocking up on dried fruit, perhaps? We could pig out at Mrs. Fields. Or the Popcorn Palace. Or McDonald’s. We could easily live in this part of the mall, as long as it didn’t fall on us. At Sam Goody’s record store, the bin for a rock band called Aftershock is sadly empty. But there’s always AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long,” or Tori Amos’ “Little Earthquakes,” and that’s just in the “A” section.

1:35-1:50 p.m.: We double back to The Broadway, where a visit to Housewares reminds us why we persist in living in sunny California despite now-irrefutable evidence that it doesn’t want us here: colorful plastic outdoor dishware, picnic baskets and beach chairs. Hah! It takes a 4.5 or better to even get our attention now, but it’s still winter back East. Then again, we do seriously consider this butane-powered stove burner.

1:50-2:05 p.m.: We exit The Broadway on the lower level and pass one of three Footlocker stores and a Don Carlos Mexican restaurant. (One need never go more than 100 feet or so without sneakers or sustenance in this mall.) Dishes break during the quake? Here’s Williams-Sonoma. Waldenbooks has plenty of reading material suitable for temblor-sitting. For instance, “The Great American Bathroom Book,” in two volumes, offers truncated versions of the classics, perfect for when you have only a few minutes peace at a time between bolting for the door during aftershocks.

2:05-2:15 p.m.: The weeks of stress have sapped our shopping stamina. Luckily, we have come to the food court. We seek out our personal favorite, the unfortunately named hot dog on a stick. At least those ridiculous, tall, red, white and yellow hats the poor teen-agers who work here have to wear have taken on a certain ‘60s rave hipness, however briefly. Dog and a lemonade, $3.20.

2:15-3 p.m.: Just a thought: Is the grunge look not dead when Kinney shoes displays knock-offs of Alp construction boots? Maybe we’re just segueing into the survival look. Quel desappointement. The Gap has no sweats, so perfect for those now-sleeping/now-running outdoors kind of nights. At J.C. Penney’s cosmetics department, they hawk huge, very bounceable plastic containers of bath crystals. But aren’t we saving water with these 30-second, please-no-aftershock-right-now showers?

3-3:05 p.m.: Back out in the mall, an information desk touts public transportation. They should relocate to the parking garage where people are probably ready to abandon their single-family vehicular units. Miller’s Outpost: flannel and denim, more clothes you can sleep in. Besides, you’re ready for either a mosh pit or a Red Cross shelter at a moment’s notice.

3:05-3:10 p.m.: Kaybee Toy and Hobby has Barbie bicycle helmets that could double as hard hats for the kids. Fly-apart Crash Dummies dolls are on sale for only $9.99. Practical under the circumstances, perhaps, but also a little too weird.

3:10-3:25 p.m.: We glide up the Robinsons-May escalator and catch a glimpse into the adjacent parking garage where dozens of frustrated drivers are generating great clouds of smog but very few parking spaces. We feel sorry for them, but we’re in the mall and they’re not, because, no doubt, we’ve been living right. In housewares, we find an adorable Tea Cattle, a cow-shaped kettle. If you have to boil water to eliminate impurities caused by a sudden rupture in an already crumbling urban infrastructure, why not be cheery? And what’s this? Fondue sets have their own source of power, and they’re so civilized. Then there’s the food dehydrator. For only $99.99 you can make your own beef jerky and be the envy of the rest of the people sleeping in pup tents in the park.

3:25-3:35 p.m.: We start back toward The Broadway on the upper level. Ah! Victoria’s Secret. Natural disasters can be so romantic. “Oh, my! All I’m wearing is a lace teddy, and I’m so frightened!” (Hey, those emergency workers can be darned good-looking.) Across from Ann Taylor is an Easy Spirit store--you know, they make fashionable pumps you can play basketball (or flee the apocalypse) in. The Wherehouse will buy your used CDs, the ones that all fell on the floor and made you wonder why you have more than 100 of these things that contain probably a sum total of four songs you actually listened to sometime during the last fiscal year.

Gadget store Brookstone, with its capitalistic finger firmly on the pulse of the community, prominently displays emergency lights and therapeutic vibrators. (Someone, somewhere, must be inventing a combination flashlight-transistor radio-shiatsu massager.)

3:35-3:40 p.m.: We now stop and behold in awe the piece de resistance of earthquake preparedness. Artwork fall off the walls during the 6.8-er? Have to scrounge for food while the power was off? Solve both problems at once! How will a Monet-like Impressionist painting in an intricate gilt-like frame solve all your earthquake needs? It’s made out of chocolate! See Pseudio’s for details.

3:40-3:50 p.m.: One last stop at the GNC store to stock up on vitamin, homeopathic medicines and energy bars--not for the quake kit--for the parking garage.

3:50-4 p.m.: At least if the Big One hits now, we have malled one last time. We meander slowly to our vehicle, feeling the gaze of desperate would-be Orange Julius purchasers who really want to get out of this parking garage. . Which one of these poor souls should we allow to have our golden, gleaming, sought-after parking space? What better therapy for that awful feeling of helplessness we had when Mother Nature toyed with us too cruelly. Now, we get to play God.