This past holiday season, I found myself in the mall more than previous years. Of course I still did most of my shopping online, but now that my girls are getting older, they want to be at the mall – practically every weekend.
And because of my many repeat visits, I have gotten very used to walking past the vendors in the middle of the mall that try to push their “life changing” skin cream or hair serum sample packets at me, and not feeling one bit bad about it.
You know who I am talking about right? The mix of good-looking men and women, wearing either all black or all black and a clinical looking white jacket, with exotic foreign accents from areas that I couldn’t identify even if I was good at geography ((or identifying accents)).
I honestly believe as they are standing around their cart, looking good with their glowing skin and great hair, they are judging the rest of us that look like everyday mall rats. Those of us that no longer care so much about what we look like when we go to the mall. Which is basically, anyone over 30 with a ponytail hair or baseball hat, stretch pants or old jeans, sneakers or practical snow boots.
Then they pluck one of us sad looking woman out the crowd – And UGH! When they choose me!
After making their select, they walk along side of you telling you that the packet they hold in their hand can brighten your face! Your hair! Your eyes! It can remove your wrinkles! Your sagging skin! Your bags!
Well fucking thanks for literally pointing out everything wrong with me as I walk around sweating in a ginormous, beige winter coat that practically blends in with my bland winter skin. I appreciate you reminding me that I am puffy from holiday festivities and the circles under my eyes make me look like I was mugged on my way into the mall. No, I am sure you don’t realize that I am struggling and breathing heavy – which is taking away from my naturally lovely glow - because I am carrying 9,000 bags of bullshit my kids made me buy. And yes, my hair is limp – because I haven’t washed it in nearly four days because I feel like being lazy – because I can be today. Because I feel like I have to glam up all the time for work or going out – and so I am happy being a dirty girl right now and I was only seconds away from actually wearing a scrunchie in public. That is a new low. That would probably make it so that these mall hawkers wouldn’t even consider me. I would be too far gone.
As I look down to try to avoid all eye contact with the guy walking along side of me – still telling me all of the benefit this condom-size packet holds - I relent and agree to let him put the sample cream on my face.
Sounding and looking like a mix of Fabio and Pierce Bronson, I can’t say I want to complain as the guy is rubbing the lotion onto my face. In fact, I may have accidentally leaned a little too much into the rub because he began to make a much smaller circular motion and swiftly pulled away. I opened my eyes and sat back, more erectly on the stool.
He then ((seemingly cautiously)) told me to close my eyes again. When I did I felt a coolness on my eyelid and realized he was rubbing a light cream on my one lid. Before moving to my other eyelid, he told me to open my eyes. I did.
He asked me, in his sexy accent, how I felt. I told him it felt sticky.
“Nooooo….” he said in disbelief in some Italian? French? Russian? Whatever….accent.
“Yea….” I said like a Jersey girl, while I panicked a little at needing to try so hard to blink my plastered eyelid.
I imagine that as I sat struggling through this excessive eye blinking, like someone taking a repeated glaucoma test, that I wasn’t doing much for sales of this “miracle cream”. Yes, miracle – your eyes look brighter and bigger because, well, you can barely close them – Ever.
I got up from my chair and the guy had the balls to ask me where I was going. I told him to find the nearest sink, water bottle, or even a soda foundation to stick my face under it and wash away this awful cream. Ya know, so I could properly see again.
And just like that – the guy who sounded like Fabio and Pierce Bronson only seconds ago – told me off like a pure New Yorker, “Youse guys are such bullshit over here. I am just tryin’ to woyk and sell somma this shit.”
So much for exotic people selling mystical creams….I guess the “miracle” claim for the eye solution wasn’t the only thing that was fake.
And because of my many repeat visits, I have gotten very used to walking past the vendors in the middle of the mall that try to push their “life changing” skin cream or hair serum sample packets at me, and not feeling one bit bad about it.
You know who I am talking about right? The mix of good-looking men and women, wearing either all black or all black and a clinical looking white jacket, with exotic foreign accents from areas that I couldn’t identify even if I was good at geography ((or identifying accents)).
I honestly believe as they are standing around their cart, looking good with their glowing skin and great hair, they are judging the rest of us that look like everyday mall rats. Those of us that no longer care so much about what we look like when we go to the mall. Which is basically, anyone over 30 with a ponytail hair or baseball hat, stretch pants or old jeans, sneakers or practical snow boots.
Then they pluck one of us sad looking woman out the crowd – And UGH! When they choose me!
After making their select, they walk along side of you telling you that the packet they hold in their hand can brighten your face! Your hair! Your eyes! It can remove your wrinkles! Your sagging skin! Your bags!
Well fucking thanks for literally pointing out everything wrong with me as I walk around sweating in a ginormous, beige winter coat that practically blends in with my bland winter skin. I appreciate you reminding me that I am puffy from holiday festivities and the circles under my eyes make me look like I was mugged on my way into the mall. No, I am sure you don’t realize that I am struggling and breathing heavy – which is taking away from my naturally lovely glow - because I am carrying 9,000 bags of bullshit my kids made me buy. And yes, my hair is limp – because I haven’t washed it in nearly four days because I feel like being lazy – because I can be today. Because I feel like I have to glam up all the time for work or going out – and so I am happy being a dirty girl right now and I was only seconds away from actually wearing a scrunchie in public. That is a new low. That would probably make it so that these mall hawkers wouldn’t even consider me. I would be too far gone.
As I look down to try to avoid all eye contact with the guy walking along side of me – still telling me all of the benefit this condom-size packet holds - I relent and agree to let him put the sample cream on my face.
Sounding and looking like a mix of Fabio and Pierce Bronson, I can’t say I want to complain as the guy is rubbing the lotion onto my face. In fact, I may have accidentally leaned a little too much into the rub because he began to make a much smaller circular motion and swiftly pulled away. I opened my eyes and sat back, more erectly on the stool.
He then ((seemingly cautiously)) told me to close my eyes again. When I did I felt a coolness on my eyelid and realized he was rubbing a light cream on my one lid. Before moving to my other eyelid, he told me to open my eyes. I did.
He asked me, in his sexy accent, how I felt. I told him it felt sticky.
“Nooooo….” he said in disbelief in some Italian? French? Russian? Whatever….accent.
“Yea….” I said like a Jersey girl, while I panicked a little at needing to try so hard to blink my plastered eyelid.
I imagine that as I sat struggling through this excessive eye blinking, like someone taking a repeated glaucoma test, that I wasn’t doing much for sales of this “miracle cream”. Yes, miracle – your eyes look brighter and bigger because, well, you can barely close them – Ever.
I got up from my chair and the guy had the balls to ask me where I was going. I told him to find the nearest sink, water bottle, or even a soda foundation to stick my face under it and wash away this awful cream. Ya know, so I could properly see again.
And just like that – the guy who sounded like Fabio and Pierce Bronson only seconds ago – told me off like a pure New Yorker, “Youse guys are such bullshit over here. I am just tryin’ to woyk and sell somma this shit.”
So much for exotic people selling mystical creams….I guess the “miracle” claim for the eye solution wasn’t the only thing that was fake.