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.
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