Newness for November...

I struggle with trying to be two things...makeup artist and writer. I'm currently trying to find a way to bring these two together successfully. I could do a blog about beauty...how to apply makeup, reviewing makeup, etc., but I feel there are already great people out there doing that. 

I had my confessional blog there for a while with WHEN BEAUTY GETS UGLY, and it certainly was fun. Yet what I really need is a place that showcases what I can do with words. Plus, I must strengthen my writing like I did with my makeup artistry - for someday I hope to trade my lipstick slinging ways for a book contract. 

So I'm trying something new. I will try every day to write a 100 word story, based on five randomly picked words, that covers a slew of topics - including beauty!

(This should be interesting;)

I will be changing my blog name to 100 WORDS OR LESS...or possibly something far more clever than that;)

Thank you for always sharing this small bit of time with me. Hopefully you come back for more...

"In Closing..."

It looks like we need another lesson in How Not to Shop in Cosmetics.

I was taking one of those online surveys the other day—you know, the ones that want feedback on your shopping experience. I took it, just hoping I might be the next “instant winner”. Which, of course, I wasn’t. Surprise, surprise.

Before I continued my cyber-wandering for the day, I skimmed down to the survey’s comment section—and damn if the very first comment on there didn’t get my panties in a bunch. This woman was complaining how the store’s employees shut the lights off five minutes before closing, and asked her to please take her purchases to the register. She went on to say how she hated feeling rushed when she was just trying to pick up a meal for her family.

By the way, did I mention this was at ten o’clock in the evening?

First off, who buys dinner for the family at ten at night? Someone who doesn’t have it altogether, I’d say. And second, she had the whole freaking day to do it!

Now, I know a lot of you out there who work/have worked for a very specific retailer know exactly where I’m headed with this. For those of you who don’t, let me clarify…

When you work for an establishment that refuses to close until the last customer is done shopping—no matter how long that takes—you are going to end up with serious assholes taking advantage of that. And to make sure we are perfectly clear for all the non-retailers out there, when I say ‘refuses to close’…that means every employee in the building must stay for that one single customer. Just in case. And we’re not talking about staying ten or fifteen minutes late. We’re talking anywhere from half an hour to an hour. Wait, wait…let that sink in.

Yeah.

At most of these places, people have 10+ hours to get their shopping done. I’m sorry, but if you can’t manage to get things done before ten or eleven at night, you really need to rework your priorities. Yes, I know sometimes we have emergencies. Sometimes you just have to grab something real quick. That’s not who I’m talking about here. I’m talking about the person who suddenly needs to finish their grocery shopping at closing time. Or the lady who just has to have that new dress—like right now.

Or the lady who needs to pick a new lipstick shade at 9:59PM.

Heaven forbid us retail workers would want to get home sometime today. And how dare we make them feel rushed, right? Yet I’m pretty sure if some person kept them at their job half an hour to an hour past their quitting time, they wouldn’t be at all happy. Not at all. In fact, they’d be pissed.

But you know what’s even worse than the people who don’t take our outside lives into consideration? It’s the ones who do—the ones who know exactly what they’re doing.

There was a couple who would often come into the above mentioned store, at least once or twice a month, at ten minutes to closing. They would walk through fragrance, asking for samples. Never once buying. In reality, the whole purpose to their visit was to pretend to shop as long as they could.

Okay, let me say that one more time.

This couple would come in with the sole purpose of seeing how long it took before the store kicked them out. Talk about fucking with people, right? 

In closing (haha), I would like to say to all the people out there, the ones who never stop to think that maybe the new eyeshadow they want can wait until tomorrow…

…Fine. But don’t ever let us figure out where you work—because we might just call or pop in…right before quitting time.

 

Thanks all! And happy shoppingJ

 

"Traveling..Ain't It A Bitch"

I’ve been on vacation this last week…hence no beauty post. I hope you all can forgive that. I don’t know about you all, but I unplug myself completely when I’m on vacation. That means no Facebook, no email—not even my phone…mostly. I answer texts and phone calls only when absolutely critical.

Still, this next post is about travel—which I know a lot of us out there do for our lines or our jobs. We experience those horrible flights that are inevitable. Those whack roommates who are unavoidable—and, of course, those crazed events or competitions that seem unending.

I had to travel for work recently, right before my vacation. This trip, like a few others I've had (hello, day trip to San Francisco), was a real experience. I should have known the moment I dropped my large Trish McEvoy page, loaded with some of my favorite discontinued Nars eye shadow, on my bathroom floor. Literally five minutes before I had to leave for the airport.

Yeah, big mess.

Anyway, my flight was on the smallest commercial plane I’d ever been on. The first ten rows were single seats. Just as I was about to get hopeful, they broke off in to two tinier seats. I ended up next to a yoga instructor on her way to Mexico. She was super nice—which was great…but unfortunately, the rest of the plane smelled of vomit. The stink only grew worse throughout the flight.

We exited, all of us gladly, only to find ourselves on a little island inside the LAX airport. Now, I’ve flown in and out of this airport more than any other. I had no idea it had these little outposts. The buses there run slow…probably because they need to wait on the runway for the damn planes as they shuttle you in.

I started my California adventure (pun absolutely intended) in a cab with a driver who reminded me of the one we had in Mexico. I am certainly no stranger for road rage, but damn. That was one angry, jolting, colorful cab ride through Los Angeles.

The actual school/training part of my day was great. I have to say, after fifteen years in cosmetics…I have finally found a real home in the line I work with. And as an artist, it’s ironic it isn’t with a makeup line (though I am, and will always be, a huge fan of Nars…). I left that day the way they mean you to leave. With dedication, excitement and confidence.

However, I was still a long way from home…

The cab ride back to the airport was much better. This driver was more relaxed—and it only cost a couple dollars more for that nice, calm drive. Once through security, I did what most all of you would do. I had a drink.

Of course, in an airport, the damn thing cost me nearly $16, but it was the size of a soup bowl. Since I didn’t want a $16 piece of chicken with it, I ordered the cheapest thing I could…a bowl of “world renowned Chowder”. It came with dense, soggy fries which were chewy enough that the only way to tolerate them was to dip it in the white mass of gelatin-looking soup in front of me—which seemed to float in a layer of yellow grease inside my bowl. Tucked inside the soup were three, large lumps of star shaped saltwater crackers. After trying the soup and the fries, I decided maybe the crackers were safer.

Nope. There was nothing safe or yummy about them. They were hard and stale. So I ate what I could stomach, but mostly sat there and drank my wine…that is, until a gnat flew into it.

At this point, I only had ten minutes until my boarding time. If the glass hadn’t cost me $16, I might have just left it. Instead, I rushed to the bar, pleading with the bartender to refill my wine—but only to the point it was before the gnat. I didn’t want to stumble onto the plane.

So I got a fresh glass, which I was then forced to down so I could get back to my gate.

I reached it with only a few minutes to spare. Now, here is where the writer in me found some really fun entertainment. There was a slew of characters around me on the plane. I’ve told you before how I look for traits in strangers that I can file away and use for later…well, I found one of my best one yet.

 It was the lady with the crucifix. Not a necklace, or one that people hold in their hands, but a giant two and half foot Jesus on a cross that she cradled like a toddler on her hip. On her other shoulder hung a neon pink tote bag with the words ‘I Love Jesus’ stitched into it.

Obviously…

I finished my day parked on the plane, stuck between a man who looked just like the bad guy from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom—the one who rips out other people’s hearts—and a big trucker whose t-shirt said ‘For Sale: Good Old Bob’.

At least I can say my day was very entertaining…

 

Cheers to you all!!! And happy traveling;)

 

"Foundation, Foundation, Foundation..."

One of the most ridiculous parts of my day lately—especially now that it’s summer—is foundation matching. Oh-my-goodness...it should be simple, right? And about 55% it is. However, that other 45% is just killing me right now. Each day I’ve grabbed my three foundation shades, intent on finding the perfect match for the person in front of me—

—Only to find out that’s not what they want. Sure, fine. I’ve been in this business long enough that I can roll with just about anything. I’m used to that client that doesn’t want the foundation to match.

You all know the one.

In fact, I automatically go for the lighter colors as a general rule now when I find myself in this situation. It never fails, though…I never start light enough. It’s as if my brain simply cannot grasp that they really do want that number one or number two shade—the one made for the most porcelain of porcelain skins.

The lighter/darker foundation thing isn’t what frustrates me. Not at all. You want to be paler than you are now? Cool. I’m not wearing it, so it doesn’t affect me. You want to go ten shades darker so you look like you have a tan? Fine—it’s your money.

See, what bothers me is the guessing game. Because now I’m in a position where I need to match a color that’s envisioned in my customer’s head. I have no idea what that color is. None. So I start slapping stripes on these poor girls, trying to determine if it’s too yellow, or too pink—or too light, or too dark. They get frustrated, I get frustrated. If it was always the same, if they always wanted to the same look, things would be different. But they don’t.

And I am not a mind reader.

If I was…I certainly wouldn’t be slinging lipsticks.

Then there’s the other side, the ones that don’t like foundation because it washes them out. We do our best to explain that a foundation is supposed to neutralize the color on the skin—lessoning the red, as it were. Yet every time we match a color, it’s never right. It’s always too light for them. So we go darker, and darker. And darker. Eventually, we come to understand that foundation is coming back as soon as our customer catches sight of themselves in the daylight. There will be no covering that orangey, streaky mess with bronzer. No sir, not this time. There’s simply no way to make that utter disaster look natural.

We only hope the rest of our fellow peers/makeup artists aren’t looking. We don’t want them to think that we think we picked the right color for that person.

We have an image to maintain, after all. We’re artists.

There’s one last thing that gets under my skin during a foundation matching…and that’s watching some customers put on their foundation. When they start rubbing it in like they’re massaging a strained muscle—with vigor and far too much pressure—and then tell you they don’t see anything. I want to smack them atop their head. Of course you don’t see it…you just rubbed the damn thing away silly.

Makeup application is all about education, education, education…

…and lately, class has been in session all day long.

 

Cheers to you all! And happy shopping:)

 

 

 

 

---

 [EO1]

When Beauty Gets Ugly: "Surviving the Summer Slowness"

Ahh, summer. I have to say, I love it most of all…except for when I’m working. But that’s all of us, right? I mean, this time of year is P-A-ainful for working retail. Especially beauty retail. Everyone’s on vacation or going on vacation. People are wearing less makeup for the season, or they’re shopping for cute summer clothes, not summer makeup. Any way you slice it, summer hours can drag on endlessly when you’re missing the best of them—that is, when you’re trapped inside a windowless, heavily air-conditioned store all day, doing what amounts to a whole lot of nothing.

For me, it really affects my mood…because if there’s one thing I hate, it’s being stuck in cold-ass air conditioning. I hate being cold as much as I hate being stuck. Maybe more. So when Lipstick Lady walks up to my counter, smile on her face and smelling of warm summer air—I find myself having to dig deep for the niceness I know is in me somewhere.

I don’t know if any of you ever reach that point—the one where it’s been so long since you’ve helped someone, you’re just not in the mood to help anyone anymore. Let alone the damn near albino woman who walks up wanting the same nude lipstick she read Nicki Minaj wears—with the unshakable impression it’s going to look exactly the same on her. You then have to spend the next half hour or so, convincing her slowly that she needs the right kind of nude—not the one she read about in a magazine.

Maybe she gets it, maybe she doesn’t. For me, I just focus on surviving the moment.

This is also the time of year when everyone starts asking you where the bathroom is. I don’t know how many times I’ve wished for a sign I can hold, which would save me from having say the same thing over and over and over. Floods of people come wandering in from the heat, looking for quick relief from the sun and their full bladders. Every other question I hear is, “Where’s your restroom?”

Good thing our bathroom isn’t totally tricky to find or anything. Oh, wait…

So how do we survive summer?

Well, we do a lot of chatting, which helps kill some time. We organize and reorganize our counters and drawers (or maybe that’s just me;). We take an extra break, or two (or more)—all of this for the sake of our sanity. And if we can sneak it in, we do makeup on ourselves or each other—which is my preferred method for killing time.

I’ll admit freely that I both truly love, and totally dread this time of year. Which I find an unusual and interesting contradiction.

…So how do I survive summer? One glorious and painful moment at a time;)…

 

Happy summer to you all! And happy shopping:)

 

*If you have any great tips for beating the summer blah session...let me know!*

 

 

 

 

When Beauty Gets Ugly: "Energy Vampires" and "Shopping with Husbands"

Energy Vampire – n. A person who feeds off the energy of humans they come in contact with.

A customer said the most interesting thing to me the other day. Not interesting ‘Oh’, but interesting as in ‘What? Well, FU lady’. Sure, we weren’t really hitting it off to begin with—you know how sometimes you and a customer just don’t click? Well, there I was putting on this woman’s eyeliner as she sat in the chair—her arms crossed tight against her chest and her lips pursed. I got the impression she was barely tolerating my existence.

Out of nowhere, she says to me, “I don’t know how you people do it sometimes. Look at that woman over there…”

I pause and glance over my shoulder. There’s a lone salesperson walking through her area, looking over her cases.

The woman continues with, “You people have to spend so much of your time doing nothing, I don’t know how you do it—”

(...and here’s where it gets good…)

She goes on to say, “I know you people who work retail are born to do this job, but still…I don’t know how you tolerate it.”

Wait, what? Did she seriously just say that?

What’s funny is, I understood she wasn’t intentionally trying to be rude or insulting. But that didn’t stop me from resenting the hell out of her. I mean, some of the smartest and most talented people I’ve met work in retail. Anyway, by the time we wrapped it up, I was done with her. I was spent. Drained. Ready to break away from everything and recharge—too bad they don’t let you do it with margaritas, huh?

Because some customers just do that to you.

And all that brings me to my main topic. I’ve been pondering how to start this subject for a while. I mean, how do you describe ‘Energy Vampire’ to someone who doesn’t work in retail? Because unlike other customer archetypes I’ve covered, the Energy Vampire doesn’t have any typical characteristics. They can be anyone, anywhere. Sometimes they’re nice, sometimes they’re shy. Sometimes they’re other things and other words I have no need to say here. As with the woman above, you all know what I mean.

So what is the Energy Vampire? Well, they are the customers we get, probably more frequently than most, that drain us completely. When we’re done with them, it’s generally time to call it a day and start drinking.

There’s really no rules here. Most times, but not always, they take a lot of our time. Sometimes it’s searching for lipstick (What? Lipstick? No way...), sometimes it’s just a quick touch-up. Sometimes it’s eyeliner, or skincare, or foundation…and on and on and on.

Bottom line is, there’s no way to spot this person until you’re already ass-deep in helping them. Suddenly it’ll just hit you as you’re reaching for that next color. You feel weak, tired. It becomes harder and harder to think of things to talk about. There’s this little whining voice inside you saying, “I hope this is the last one.” When it’s not, you damn near whimper with fatigue. Unfortunately, this goes on and on and on…seemingly forever and ever. Amen. Too bad garlic and crosses don’t work on these vampires...and anyone who doesn’t believe in the dreaded E.V., obviously wasn’t born to work retail.

 

Who of you out there are familiar with this particular scenario:

A husband and wife walk up to your counter. The husband reaches you first, his eyes bright with humor. He lifts his lips in a cheery smile and says, “So, can you make me look beautiful?”

Ha, ha. Heh.

After giving him my standard, ‘you’re so funny’ laugh, I say something like, “Sure…you want a little blush, a little lipstick?” Everybody laughs. Kind of. To be fair, that joke was funny the first two or three times I heard it. But over a decade later, and after hearing it a hundred times over, it kind of loses its charm—and my laugh is no longer capable of being genuine.

Besides, at this point I’m too busy trying to figure out what kind of experience this is going to be. Good? Or bad…

Husbands, especially controlling ones, are the banes of our existence. There’s nothing so frustrating as hearing a woman say, “I need to ask my husband first before I buy” or “Oh, I really love this color but...my husband doesn’t like it when I where [pink, red, bright, nude, or even just] lipstick.”

No. No, no, no, NO! You husbands do not get to tell your wives what to do or wear—especially if it makes them feel pretty. My hubby doesn’t like it when I do my bright and crazy makeup—and you know what I tell him? Tough shit. It’s me. It’s who I am.

So when I see a husband and wife walk up together, I’m wondering if he’s going to be the husband that gives encouraging feedback or wanders off until we’re done, or the husband that hangs over my shoulder and tells me what to put, or what not to put, on his wife’s face.

Ugh…Worst moment ever: being told what to do by a man who knows absolutely nothing about makeup. No, sir, that camel eyeshadow will not look good or natural on your pink-porcelain skinned wife.

What? You want me to put it on anyway? Sure…obviously I don’t know what I’m doing.

What? It didn’t look right so maybe I should have used a different brush? Sure....that’ll make it look better…

I’m sorry, did you say you want me to put that brick-red lipstick on her too?  Okay, but just remember…you asked for it, bud.

Thanks for sticking with me—this was an especially long one!

 

Cheers to all my peeps out there, and happy selling;)!

 

 

 

When Beauty Gets Ugly: "Beauty Disaster Montage"

I know we all can relate to a plain old, flat out, exhausting week. I’m going to touch a bit on the whole theme thing for a minute because I swear, it seems like whenever the crazies come, they come in droves. The most hilarious thing—that I just realized at this very moment as I sit here typing—is that so many of my infamous customer archetypes came to see me this week.

That’s why this post was such a long time coming—I had no idea where to start. My first thought was gifts…because that’s always a fun thing to talk about. Gift Events have the unique, wonderful ability of bringing out the hag in haggle. It never fails that when the foreign bus coughs out its load (no really, I’m not being jerk—there really is a foreign bus), the topic of gifts always comes up.

That was my first clue that this was going to be a bad week.

I was bombarded by a family of five travelers from _____ (I will let the experts out there fill in the blank) who insisted on receiving five gifts from La Mer—plus five gift bags from the department. To be fair, they were purchasing over a thousand dollars’ worth of product. However, I stood fast and refused them—mainly because they threatened me with online ordering. I do not deal well with threats. And seeing as I don’t work on commission and this wasn’t my line, I didn’t need the sale.

So I brought them down to a more realistic, more acceptable limit. Bully for me.

Yet low and behold, at the very moment I was putting their gifts together, I caught sight of The Endlessly Annoying and Always Indecisive Woman—and it was just my luck that she was waiting for me.

Trust me, I did not hold back the groan. I even cursed under my breath—which happened to be loud enough for a coworker to hear.

Luckily, we were both on the same page.

And here’s where I’m forced to bite my tongue. She only took up a half hour of my time (most of which was spent looking for a gift bag with decent sewing on the inner lining…ugh). But she purchased from my line, AND I only had to try on three orange nail polish colors—just three…mostly because I lied and said they were the only orange nail polishes in the department (don’t you judge me).

All in all, I consider this to be a major victory.

Other visits this week included the Constant Returner, the Sample Whore, and always, always the Lipstick Lady (Bless her heart…she never really leaves, you know. I’m convinced she has a secret home built under one of the clothing racks).

And last, but don’t you dare ever call her least, was the Know-It-All.

Oh, I can see that hair coming a mile away—not to mention the contouring. It was a blessed day for me as it was the day I chose to wear my flats. There are some benefits to being S.A.H. (Short As Hell), when I’m in flats I don’t have to bend over to hide from people. All I have to do is lean forward a bit and poof! I’m gone.

So I spent a good fifteen minutes leaning forward and circling the five foot wall of the counter I had to hide behind. I’m sure it was a great moment for the LP people (the Eyes in the Sky), watching me move like a gerbil on a wheel as I avoided making eye contact with this woman.

Do I feel bad that one of my good friends was forced to help her?

Yes.

Would I do it again?

You bet your ass I would.

 

What? It was a really bad week…

 

Cheers to you all! And happy shopping…

To BS: I didn’t forget, I promise;)

 

Tune in next time as I finally call out ‘The Energy Vampire’ and ‘Shopping with the Hubby’!

 

When Beauty Gets Ugly: "Makeup Messes"

 

One thing about working with the public is—they never cease to surprise and amaze. It seems as if every week I have a new story to tell about a person who did/wore/said something crazy. Each and every time, I laugh or remark on it. And I file it away. As a writer, I love to catalog the people I meet—especially the remarkable ones. You never know when you may need to mix and match those personality quirks for a good story or side character.

And man, do I have a lot.

I still remember my first ‘huh’ moment in cosmetics. I was trying to find a lipstick for an almost fortyish woman (Man, it always comes down to a lipstick, doesn’t it?), when she asked me if I had a color that would match her hair. I’m pretty sure I just stared at her, trying to figure out exactly what she meant by that. Was she saying she wanted it to compliment her hair? I mean, she wasn’t actually asking for an ashy brown/streaky blonde colored lipstick, was she?

I hesitated, taking a moment to scan my color wheel. Still unsure, I plucked out a beige nude lip color and held it out to her. My eyes jumped back and forth from her face to the tube. I was anxious over how she’d react to my pick. She lifted a brow, staring me down. She did not look amused. Then she grabbed the tube and held it up to her short, choppy locks.

“Does this look like it matches?” she asked me.

I couldn’t help picturing her lips covered with tiger stripes of blonde and brown color. The answer was nope, it sure didn’t. So I did the only thing my newbie brain could think of—I passed her off to a different makeup line.

We’ve all had our moments of ‘huh’ and ‘isn’t that person interesting’, haven’t we? I mean, we’ve all seen the women who’ve had way too much plastic surgery—you know, the ones who resemble the alien sketches shown on Unsolved Mysteries. And we’ve all seen the women who look like they never wash off their makeup. Yeah, some of them actually admit to just adding more makeup overtop yesterday’s worn and crusty color.

(This is where I take a moment to cringe)

We’ve all seen these people. They’re remarkable, sure, but still more commonplace. Yet every now and again, I’m confronted with someone who stands utterly alone and unique. Someone who, even though I consider myself a creator of fiction, I would never have believed if I hadn’t actually seen them with my own eyes. Like the woman I talked about in my Crazy People blog post. Anyone who’s read it knows exactly which one I’m talking about. For those of you who don’t, take a moment to read it.

And just like the mantra says—you never forget your first.

I’ll never forget the night I saw my first. This woman I can still visualize entirely and with perfect clarity to this day—that was how impactful she was. It all started with me helping her husband. The man was closing in on eighty (and I think I’m being a little generous here), and wanting some bath products for himself and his wife—who was standing with her back to me, looking at lipsticks across the aisle (See? It really is always about lipstick). My first thought was, Oh, you dirty, dirty old bird, you. His wife had blonde, curly hair that flowed all the way to her hips. And she was tall, thanks to the knee-high, shiny leather boots with four-inch heels she wore. Layered under them was the fishnet stockings (I know, such a cliché) covered, barely, by a black leather mini skirt.

I was amused—and certainly a little grossed out—when something very unexpected happened. She turned around.

I have no idea what my face did at that moment, but I’m sure it wasn’t pretty.

The woman blasted me with a brutal vision of heavily lined, sagging sallow skin—except for the area at her temples where she’d used industrial strength tape to tug back her flesh. The effect it had on her eyes was more than just unnerving. It was terrifying. Because there was so much loose skin, the taping had pulled the corners of her eyes far beyond the yellowing whites, leaving an elongated triangle of shiny, puffy red flesh for all to see—which she’d graciously highlighted with a thick chunk of uneven, black liquid liner. Her ancient blue eyes were cloudy with age, yet still they managed to pierce the comfy layers of my brain.

But worst of all for me, worse than even the eyes, was when she ran the pink lipstick she held back and forth over her mouth. Peeling skin, still stubbornly attached to her dry chapped lips, flicked back and forth, up and over, as she drove the lipstick again and again. I could see vestiges of an old dried out coral layered under them. The eighty year old woman, dressed like a twenty year old rocker chick, then handed the lipstick over.

“And this one,” she said.

A piece of the woman’s dried skin had managed to escape her, hitching a ride on the soon-to-be disposed of lipstick tester.

Like I said, I can only imagine what my face must have looked like.

Who says life isn’t still full of surprises? Probably someone who doesn’t work face to face with the public, I say.

Cheers to you all, and happy shopping!!

 

PS to all my loyal readers! Help me spread the word. If you enjoy When Beauty Gets Ugly, please take a second to share it on twitter, Facebook, or any other social outlet.

And thank you all for taking the time to rant with me;)

When Beauty Gets Ugly: "Rude Ass People"

Rude ass people. Am I right?

Most of us carry some sort of filter in our day to day conversations. Sometimes thoughts pop in our heads that can take even us by surprise. I know I’ve had those moments where I’m like, wow, I’m glad I didn’t say that, or, I can’t believe that thought came from me. We’ve all had them. Our brain gives us a bit of a window to decide if what we’re constructing in our minds is worth vomiting out all over others. Most of the time, we make the right choice.

But apparently, not all people’s filters are working correctly.

There are people out there that just let it fly. I find it amazing, the things people feel compelled to say. Like, for instance, pointing out slight grammatical errors in your language—even though most everybody speaks informally nowadays.  Hell, we’re lucky if we manage to get all the words out. Because unless we’re standing in front of a judge, or maybe our boss, most of the time we’re falling into ‘text speak’. Lots of times, at least for me, that also means falling into a bad accent as I say it.

What? It’s fun.

I once had a customer first correct the way I stated something, than chastise me for not taking such communication seriously in a job where I had to speak formally with other people. Really, lady? I’m selling you a stick of fragranced aluminum wax that you’re going to rub back and forth over your damp and sweaty arm pits. Formality seems a bit…overrated.

Fine. How about this:

My sincerest apologies, dearest customer, for not taking the time to plan and plot each word whilst you and your husband search for the correct and preferred form of scented deodorant.  I am a disgrace to my business and to the human race.

There. Feel better?

All I’m saying is people just need to relax. Settle down. But some customers want to be angry.

I had a customer yell at me today for not helping her in fragrance—even though she was already being helped by another associate. And to make matters worse, that associate was the one who could actually answer her questions. Yet she stared me down as I was in the middle of helping another group of women, and when I finally acknowledged her heavy, beady eyes—she immediately accused me of ignoring her on purpose.

I guess sometimes you just can’t win.

Luckily, I’m one of those people that can just shrug it off. Yep, that’s me. Shrugging it off. Seven hours later. Totally letting it go. Yep. Not peeved about it even a little bit…

…Ah, Hell. Fuck it.

 

Cheers to you all, and happy shopping!!

 

When Beauty Gets Ugly: "Themes"

Themes. They’re everywhere. Not all the time, but often enough. I notice it the most in movies. Every year it seems there are two movies that carry the same theme—always released a month or two apart. This year that theme is blowing up the White House, like they do in Olympus Has Fallen and White House Down. But remember when the theme was asteroids and meteors in Armageddon and Deep Impact? Or what about the summer of magic with The Illusionist and The Prestige?

What I’m saying is, every now and again, you can sum up your day with one word alone. Today—for me—that one word is Lipstick. Not what you were expecting? It’s certainly not as dramatic as explosions and heroes flying out into space. Then again, this is how real life works.

Imagine starting your day with lipstick in your hair. Now, it’s in your hair because your daughter loves sneaking your lipstick out of your drawer or purse and stashing it away so she can use it at another time of her choosing. However, this time she stashed it while watching Ultimate Spiderman in your bedroom. On your bed. Laying on your pillows. You see where I’m going with this, right?

I’m a restless sleeper. I toss and turn, flip and kick. Bunch and re-bunch my pillow. Well, during one of those ‘re-bunching’ episodes, I must have knocked out the lipstick my daughter stashed in my pillowcase while she was watching her ‘stories’. And she didn’t leave the cap on it. So…a few hours later…I wake up with pink smashed in my hair, along with Pepto-Bismol streaks across my face and pillow.

And that’s the start of my day.

A few hours later, I’m working alone in my bay. I’m reorganizing, trying to keep myself busy—dying for the coffee break I know is coming any minute. Finally, I have my wallet in one hand, phone in the other, when up walks a woman who stops at the lipsticks. She grabs two and swipes them over her hand, all while I’m cursing my luck and setting down stuff.

“Can I help you find anything?” I ask (I’m sure my voice had that resigned, slightly annoyed tone to it). I really, really need that coffee.

“Actually, yes,” she says, unaware of my anguish. “I’m looking for a new lipstick. I want red, pink and orange, but I want it all in one lipstick. You think you could find that for me?”

Pause. Then blink. My first thought is Oh, screw you…(actually it was the f-bomb, but no need to frighten people). Luckily, I was smart enough not to verbalize it. Besides, she doesn’t know my brain is screaming for caffeine and drowning in frustration. She just wants help finding her lipstick—that’s red, orange and pink all at the same time. Sigh.

I don't think she realized how utterly ridiculous that statement sounded.

In the end I did find something (which we were out of), and she left happy. Job well done. Catastrophe averted.

A few hours and a few normal customers later, I get round three. Up comes Lipstick Lady, the archetype from my very first blog. The one who’s on an endless hunt for the perfect lipstick. However, this particular breed has cross-pollinated with the Constant Returner—which caused a mutation that laced her with traces of the dreaded Energy Vampire.

Good thing I drank that coffee earlier.

All in all, the day wasn’t bad—it was just strange. Strange because it all revolved around one thing.

Lipstick.

 

Cheers to you all, and happy shopping.

 

 

 

When Beauty Gets Ugly: "Ridiculous Returners"

Truth: Returns are frustrating in general. Nobody likes having their hard work brought back to them, even if most of the time it’s not the customer’s fault. We don’t get angry with people for returning…mostly…so please understand—we have numbers we need to make, and returns push us further away from our goal. Any of you out there would get frustrated in that situation. However, some returns are just totally bogus.

You’ve heard me rant about the constant returners. And the ones who cleverly try to disguise face creams with body lotions. What you haven’t heard about yet are the ridiculous returners…

Man, oh man. These people have some serious balls. It never ceases to amaze me how some people act during a return. My favorite is when they walk up and hand over a jar of face cream or a bottle of foundation and ask to return it. Oh, yeah…and the damned thing is empty! Yep. Empty. As in all gone. Completely.

“It just didn’t work for me,” they’ll say.

Well, obviously…

“Yeah, and it gave me a reaction.”

Of course. The bottom of the bottle can do that sometimes.

I mean, seriously! That’s like me buying a pair of Seven Jeans, wearing the absolute hell out of them until their ripped and frayed, stained and faded and damn near shapeless—and then returning them because they didn’t fit right.

Balls, I tell you. Balls.

I once had a woman who returned an eyeliner sharpened nearly to the bottom. She told me the color wasn’t right for her eyes. Maybe she should try a powder eyeliner instead. Sure, I told her. We picked a new color—at which point she asked if she could return the small nub of a pencil she hadn’t liked. Uh, really?

Wait…it gets worse—

I paused, giving her the eye. Then I said, “Alright. We can do that this time.” —Because let’s face it, at that time and place I didn’t really have a choice.

So I start the exchange on the register. As I’m nearly done, she asks me what I’m going to do with the pencil now that she’s returned it. I tell her it gets put with the other returns to be disposed of. Then I finish the return—but apparently, she’s not done yet.

“Well,” she said, “if you’re just going to throw it away, can I have it back?”

That’s when I blinked at her. Long and slow.

“It seems like a waste to just throw it out,” she continued.

Seriously? I’m thinking to myself.

“Unfortunately,” I told her, “You just gave this pencil back to me in exchange for that new eyeliner.” I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when she continued to argue with me.

“But if you’re just going to throw it away, what’s the difference?”

“The difference,” I said, “is that I gave you money for this pencil—”

I picked up the pencil so she could see it.

“—which you then spent on this eyeliner—”

I held up the bag with her new purchase. “I need to have some kind of product on my end since we did an exchange.”

To which she said, “You people are so wasteful! I can’t believe you would just toss it in the garbage. It’s people like you and companies like this that are destroying the world!”

Yeah, lady. It’s all me (I’m shaking my head right now, just so you know).

I can’t even really get mad at people like this—because their behavior is so utterly…well, ridiculous.

 

Cheers to you all—and happy shopping!

 

When Beauty Gets Ugly: "Musings..."

My apologies for the long absence! I took a break for two very good reasons:

1.      After the Boston bombing, I felt the world had enough negativity going around (even though mine is all done with the most playful intentions). So I took a break from the beauty blog to work on a short story I was getting ready to submit to a contest.

…and..

 

2.      I spent last weekend out of the state, visiting a house that time forgot. What I mean is, there was no WiFi—oh, the humanity! It was a great trip and we had a lot of fun, but now we’re back and it’s time for me to get back to work.

So, I was chatting with a coworker the other day—and something interesting came up. Something we in cosmetics have all noticed or brought up at one time or another. I’ve even hinted at it in previous post. I found myself, for the first time, really considering the possibility that staying in the cosmetics industry for a long time really does drive many of us crazy. Literally crazy. Not just ha-ha, every now and again crazy, but truly, actually, totally butt-fuck bonkers.

Now obviously this doesn’t apply to everyone—but think about all the crazy AE’s and cosmetic managers out there. Not to mention the trainers and National Artists we come across. I know all of us—every single one of us—has run into someone like this before. We’ve all had them. Doesn’t that make you wonder if you kind of have to be crazy when you take these promotions? Or are you normal when you take them, and it’s all the bullshit events, pain-in-the-ass customers, and wild personalities you need to keep in check that finally shoves you over the edge?

After fifteen years, I could kind of see how this could drive a person mad. I guess. Then again, maybe it is something they slip in the water…

 

Sorry again for the delay. I promise next time to be back and ready for action on how not to shop in cosmetics. Hmmm…I think maybe that should be my blog’s new name. What do you think?

For now, I wish you well…and happy shopping.

 

 

When Beauty Gets Ugly: "Gift Events"

Gift events…oh, man. Just saying that is enough to give me the heebie-jeebies. Anyone who’s been in cosmetics a significant amount of time knows exactly where I’m going with this—especially if you’ve ever worked for the top three lines (which in non-cosmetic lingo is Estee Lauder, Clinique and Lancôme). These three are The gift lines. Oh, oh, there are so many avenues I could take right now for the “How Not to Shop in Cosmetics”, but I’m going to resist. Right now, I want to talk about the events themselves. I’ll get into the meat of gift events next time…

WARNING—Here is a post that is entirely in the customers favor because—spoiler alert! Gift events happen…All. The. Time. No, really. All the time.

In fact, that’s the problem, isn’t it? In previous retailers I’ve worked with, there’s such a thing as a Black-out Period. What this is for you non-retail people, is a time during the year where you are unable to take time off because of an event. You may take a day here and there, but no substantial, lengthy period away from work will be allowed.

Okay, think about that for a second. You’ll get a week here and there, maybe two if you’re lucky. However, if you want to go home for Christmas or Thanksgiving? Forget it. Not going to happen.

Now, at this previous retailer I speak of, their black-out period is a large portion of every month. Yes, that is exactly what I meant to write. Twelve months out of the year, this retailer states that of those twelve months, every single one has an event that cannot be missed. That’s one very important event, every single month. Do you see the problem? Well, just in case, allow me to illuminate…

As a person who is building a business, we have a certain amount of clients who are loyal and reliable. This is what cosmetics people do—by the way—we build businesses. We sell ourselves, we sell a product, we sell a service—and we really do want you to return to us. In doing this, we strive to build a loyal clientele. Now, imagine having a business that had a special offer, one that cannot be missed, every single month. The people running the business know they cannot keep hounding the same clients, month after month. No logical person is going to need a refill of foundation, or a new eye shadow, least of all a new moisturizer, every single month. We all know that. However, because we run a business inside a much larger business, our jobs are on the line if we do not call you, email you, or send you letters about each event. We have goals we have to meet, after all. 

Inevitably, there comes a point where these loyal clients we’ve built say, Enough! They don’t need anything else for a while. We know you don’t want those emails or those phone calls—and trust me, we don’t contact you for every single one of these events. If we did, you’d have changed your number by now. Still, it’s our job—and we do want to keep them. We call our lists, when we need to, hoping the person on the other end of the phone needs a thing, or two.

We also hope you don’t bite our heads off.

So, you may be asking yourself how this post works in your favor. Well, at any given time, there’s most likely a gift going on somewhere. One of those stores you love is mostly likely in some promotion or another. If you want those freebees, then they’re certainly out there for the taking.

But let me leave you with this little tidbit—if you seek out a makeup artist or sales person you like, and if you loyally shop with this person when you need something, then yes you will get emails or phone calls now and again, but 99% of them will listen if you tell them how you prefer to be contacted, and how often you want to be contacted. We are not like those clothing stores or body and fragrance shops that want to anonymously inundate you with crap mailings and even crappier coupons. We know your name, we know that certain shade of berry tone lipstick you like. We know you are two and half months into your favorite mascara, so we also know you’ll be needing a new one soon. Creepy? Maybe. But if you play us right, it’ll work in all our favors.

Because you know what else you’ll get?

You’ll get way more free shit with us than you will without us. That, ladies and gents, is a very simple truth.

 

Cheers, and happy shopping!

 

Excerpt from THE DEVIL ON MY LEFT

            “Well, Lenie,” he starts, leaning back in his chair once more. That disarming smile is back in place. All the tension weighing the air is whisked away in a blink. “I know you get nervous talking about Adam and Grayson, and I can understand that. But I want to assure you I’m only here to help. What you’re going through is nothing to be ashamed of. Your body and mind sustained a major trauma, one most people will never experience. If you were perfectly functional then I would be concerned.”

            His words are meant to reassure me. I’m sure he means them. Still, that voice inside urges me to be quiet.

            “I hope you know you can trust me.” Those jolly brown eyes are so solemn and serious. He looks almost hurt.

            Here is where you give him a little bit more, Adam says. We want him to believe he’s getting through to you.

            I feel horrible for being so deceptive. Dr. Duck really is only trying to help. I hate seeing him look so disheartened.

            You don’t need help, Lenie. At least, not from him. Grayson’s words are clipped, sounding impatient. Give him what he wants, but not too much. And don’t make it obvious.  

            You are not hurting him by being deceptive, Lenie. This is what’s best for you. Adam’s certainty lulls me. I want so much to believe he’s right.

            Okay, okay. Now shut up, both of you.

            I look out the window, studying the skeletal trees outside his office. Then I look down at my lap. “Okay. There were a few other times. I just…I didn’t want to have to tell you. There were two more at school and a few more at home, usually in the morning. One even lasted about thirty seconds.” I don’t know why I added that last part. It just popped out.

            I see him perk up in his chair. “That long? It must have been a back and forth conversation.”

            Cursing myself, I nod. My head is still lowered so he can see how ‘ashamed’ I am. Not that I have to pretend much.

            “What was discussed?”

            I don’t need a coach to tell me the right thing to say here. I look him straight in the face. “My accident.”

            “The day you were struck by Andy Brennerman’s car.” It isn’t a question; more like verifying a fact.

            I nod again.

            “How did discussing this subject make you feel?” His tone is gentle, his brows lifted in what I would call concern.

            “Anxious, I guess.” I think about my brief flashback this morning. Then I find myself speaking before realizing I intended to. “They told me my memory of dying will be coming back.”

            NO! Adam’s voice roars through me, full of rage. I do my best not to react to the sheer power of it, but I still end up blinking several times. I have to fight the urge to cry. I’ve never heard even a hint of anger from him—I didn’t really think he was capable of it. I close my eyes, pushing away the first signs of tears. When I open them, I see Dr. Duck staring at me in an entirely different way. He looks…angry.

            I blink, and the look is gone. There’s nothing on his face but surprise.

            Maybe I just imagined it. I mean, what reason would he have to be mad?

            Say nothing more about it, Lenie. No matter what he asks. Grayson’s voice is low, and as grave as I’ve ever heard it. A burst of fear rushes over me, shrieking through my insides. It verifies everything I already knew—that something’s just gone very, horribly wrong.

When Beauty Gets Ugly: "Jobs We Never Thought We'd Have..."

Some people get funny when they shop. I don’t mean funny ha-ha, I mean funny strange (Okay, sometimes funny ha-ha:). Yet there are times a customer’s barrier will drop when it probably should’ve just stayed in place. Common sense flees, choices are made, and we sit back and say, “Really?...Really? You’re going to do that, huh? Okay, wow.”

You have to wonder at some of these customers state of mind when they fully entrust us with such important things…like, say, their children. So this brings me to a couple jobs I never thought I’d have while working at the beauty counter:

“The Babysitter”

Whether it’s keeping an eye on a kid you’ve carelessly allowed to play on the escalator (tsk, tsk…shame on you), or entertaining a kid you’ve dropped in my chair while you wander the store—it all equals the same thing. You made me their unwilling caretaker. And you did this without interviewing me, discussing wages (I charge $20 a minute, BTW), or giving me the low-down on your kid’s personality. You also did it without asking me a single question like, say: “Hello stranger, are you a practicing serial-killer?” or “Do you, by chance, lure children with sweets and candy, all with the express intention of fattening them up so you can then shove them into your large, double-stack oven?”

To which, of course, I would answer no. Probably. But still—you didn’t even ask. You don’t know me from Adam, yet you are okay entrusting me with the safety of your child? Wow, that is so weird to me. Plus, you never asked the most important question—which is: “Do you mind watching my kid for a moment?”

“Why, yes, I do mind, in fact.” Especially when your child starts digging his fingers into my eye shadows and blushes. I will be forced to stop them. Don’t make me drag out my candy arsenal—because you can bet your butt I will sugar them up so fast, and instead of sticking them in my double-stacked microwave ovens, I'll just hand them over with a smile. I won’t feel the least bit bad handing them back to you all hyper and crazy.

All joking aside, here’s what you really need to know. If I have a customer come up, I will be forced to turn my attention away from your kid. At that point, anything can happen—especially the kid on the escalator. Just an FYI.

Seriously though. Keep your kid off the escalator…

 

“The Therapist”

There have been times I’ve fervently repeated in my mind, “TMI...TMI…TMI, wow—totally TMI.” Doing someone’s makeup, or massaging on skincare, can be a very intimate experience. I am invading your bubble, your space. Sometimes, things just pop out. Ugh, I mean words out of your mouth, you dirty, dirty bird—(this isn’t that kind of blog). Anyway, sometimes you tell us things we never thought we’d have to hear, nor did we ever really want to. I’m not talking about general life details—I actually like knowing who my customers are. No, I’m talking about those personal details even your closest friends don’t know about you.

There must be some kind of freedom or rush some people feel in confessing their secrets to strangers. In any case, it makes me start to hurry through your makeup application. I don’t want to know your personal opinions on gays, foreigners, or politics. Or that you think Commies and Aliens are engaging in secret trysts inside Disneyland. Or how makeup companies are adding addictive chemicals into their lipsticks. And I certainly don’t want to hear about your husband’s belly-button fetish…

And I really wish I was making all this up.

Bottom line is sometimes we, your lovely helpers in cosmetics, are dodging way more land mines then we ever imagined. Every day for us is an adventure filled with beauty, bitches (sometimes of the canine sort), friends, monsters, crazies and babies.

It’s no wonder we all go a little mad sometimes…

 

Cheers, and happy shopping.