My kids still ask me to tell the story of "that one time at the mall."
I am only too happy to oblige, and it goes a little something like this:
I was at the mall with the spawn,
heading toward the exit when a woman approached me. I know I never should have made eye contact, but she wasn't
standing right near her kiosk, so I was caught completely off guard when this woman I'd never met before stepped out and asked me what brand of hair straightener I used.
I had flat ironed my hair that day (a mistake I won't be making again) and I totally thought she was complimenting me for real. This woman then
beckoned me over to her little shop of horrors. I blame being hungry
and tired on my inability to say no, because I followed her
like an obedient lap dog. You would have thought she had enticed me
with a fistful of bacon. Mmm...bacon.
She
led me to her stand, where I thought I'd hear a little blurb about how
great this new hair straightener is and instead I found myself with a gigantic
glob of Dead Sea Salt Exfoliant on my hand.
"Let us rub that in", she said quickly.
Holding
my hand over a white plastic bowl, she played twenty questions with me,
asking me my name, how old I was, if I had a husband, how long we've
been married and whether or not I was gainfully employed while she exfoliated the everloving crap out of my arm. Oh, she was
good, this one. She had me right where she wanted me: wet and trapped. I knew she had a towel hidden there somewhere, but I couldn't see it
and I wasn't too keen on the idea of walking off with one hand covered
in this weird Dead Sea Salt scrub, so I remained her captive customer. She then showed
the children and me just how terrific this product was as she hosed my hand
off with a spray bottle of water.
Then...it got gross. And weird. And actually sort of rude.
She
laughed loudly as she told my children, "Look how NASTY Mommy is!" and how
"Mommy need a shower!", while surveying the depths of the white plastic
bowl which was now full of water and my dead skin.
I
think we were all more than a little taken aback that she actually said those
words in her sales pitch. "Nasty" and "needs a shower". Yup. Well,
that'll sell a bundle of this shit, right? Absolutely. Give me 100
units right now!
I was offered a few backhanded compliments for my trouble as she lathered my arm up with her magical moisturizing lotion: "Your oily skin is a gift from God." My what is a huh?? Lady, are you kidding me with this?
Mesmerized
by the audacity, I stayed planted on the spot to listen to
what else she found hideous about my apparently troll-like skin and
greasy, gunk-filled pores, while my children stood by and helplessly
watched the drama unfold, their eyes big as saucers.
Finally,
I couldn't take it anymore. I had accepted her free presentation with
good humor and didn't bloody her lip when she basically told me I was
too grotesque to be walking around with normal people. It was time to
end this before one of us got hurt.
In an effort to bring about the end of my Trial by Esthetics, I asked, "How much?"
I
don't know how they train these people for this stuff, but they do have
a knack for it. We got the rundown of a professional salesclerk and
were told that the skin of a princess could be all mine for the "low
price" of $250. Jeez, for THAT, I could buy actual princess skin and
make myself a princess suit!
She
sensed my apprehension and suddenly, as if by magic, the Discount Gnome
came along and bippity-boppidy-booped the entire line of skin care down
to $125. I don't know how she did it! Amazing!
Still
too pricey for my blood, I declined to purchase her wares. Maybe
her brother needed a new kidney or maybe it was costing her too much to
keep fuzzy Uggs on her little feetsies this winter, because she was not giving up. She was so intent on making the sale, that
she whipped out that magical Discount Gnome again and this time the
price poofed from $125 to a mere $39.99 for two of the four miracle
working products with the additional promise that I could come back
tomorrow and get the other two for $15 off the price.
Wait, what? Was
that $15 off the original price or off the discounted price?
Ah, forget it. Doesn't matter anyway.
Somehow I managed to peel myself from her evil clutches and escape with
my children, my one soft arm and what was left of my dignity.
Later, while I was at the grocery store, I bought a jar of really good-smelling dead sea salt exfoliant and a bottle of super-hydrating princess skin lotion (probably not made with real princesses).
Eff you, Kiosk Sniper.
(I should have punched her in the throat, right? Tell me the truth:
What would you have done if it was you?)
(I should have punched her in the throat, right? Tell me the truth:
What would you have done if it was you?)