A Merry Christmas Story.....

So, the funniest thing happened the other day. As I was wondering the weary roads of life, I happened to stumble upon a mild case of chicken pox. Now, it had gone through my family, and since I was vaccinated when I was very young, I thought I was safe, but APPARENTLY NOT. I had to miss Christmas Eve mass because of it, which is by far the most special part of the Christmas season for me. But anyway, it was the night before Christmas Eve, and I had finally figured out what I wanted to get my dad. I was still contagious, and I didn't like the idea of going out in the state I was in, but then, it was either go out now or don't go out at all. I chose the former of these, and stayed as far away from everyone as possible.

Well, unfortunately, the store at the nearest mall didn't have what I was looking for. The sales associate told me that the nearest place that could have it was at another mall half an hour's drive away. It was already 8:30 at night. But, being the stubborn lunatic I am, I walked to my car without much thought on the matter, and drove half an hour to the other mall.

Now, when some people get chicken pox, they get open sores. I had one, but it was concealed by my hair. As I mentioned previously, my case was mild, and the pocks that I did get looked like aggravated pimples (in fact, I thought they were pimples caused by my ingestion of nearly half a 3.5 lb bag of Sour Patch Kids the night prior -- don't ask).

Anyway, back to my story. The mall was alive with the bustle of the season. Parents were out shopping, children in tow (why would you bring your kid Christmas shopping? Why?), and I saw several young couples walking hand in hand together (why would you go on a mall date the day before Christmas eve? Why?).

Suddenly, someone near one of the booths in the center of the mall made eye contact with me. "Hello there!" he said with a blatantly assertive voice as he walked towards me. Before I knew it, he was standing a mere six inches from my face. Typical salesman type. I didn't have time to respond before he began talking again, rather quickly. His accent made him somewhat difficult to understand, but what he said went a little something like this: "Hello there, my friend, are you tired of your problem? Do you have thirty dollars, yes or no?"
"No, what-"
"How old are you?"
"19."

"I can help you get rid of your problem, you should be able to walk confident and proud!"

He punctuated the last two adjectives by thrusting out his chest and standing up as tall as he could. An overly obvious and rather cheesy way to get one's point across, but hey, whatever works, right?

Anyway, I still didn't know what he meant. I wasn't aware of any problem that he may have been talking about.

Another thing that confused me was that I was walking in a confident manner before. I was having a good day, and even I had noticed that my posture was effortlessly good, which lifted my spirits even more. He must be stereotyping me, I decided.
"I help you get rid of this, all of it, within five days! Only five days!" the salesman continued excitedly. Suddenly, it hit me. He was looking at my pocks. He thought they were acne. He thought I was a gullible teenager with acne problems and self-esteem issues, and was trying to manipulate those traits to his advantage. I was laughing out loud in my head. But I could laugh later, now I had a present to buy, and let me tell you, it wasn't an overpriced bottle of acne cream. But he was still talking.

"Do you have thirty dollars, yes or no?"
"No."

"Do you have ten dollars, yes or no?"

"No."
"Do you have ten dollars?"

"No."
"Wait a minute, I can make it all go away, in five days!"

He turned back to his booth and grabbed a bottle of the acne cream and began rubbing some on a cotton ball. Oh great. He was going to try to put some on my face. The thought of an overly pushy paid-on-commission stranger touching my face was in absolutely no way appealing to me. Being brought up with very strict rules on manners, I was reluctant to break off this encounter by just walking away, but it was looking like there was no other option at this point. He wanted to make a sale.
Still, I did try.
"Um, it's a skin condition-"

"Five days, just wait a minute, five days!"

Nope. Wasn't going to work. At this point, I walked away, throwing a brief "Have a nice day" his way, to which he responded "You too, my friend."

At least he had sense enough to know when he'd lost a customer.

I didn't find what I was looking for that night, unfortunately. But the encounter I had with the salesman has not yet ceased to amuse me. He had been standing six inches from my face, and chances are, he would soon be waking up with a strange case of acne, and will realize within the next few days that the pox have claimed him too, for a time.

So I guess the moral of this story just might be "don't judge by appearance, you moron."
You never know.

That unconfident acne-ridden teenager in the corner?

He could just have an infectious case of chicken pocks.

And yeah, having your shoulders back and head up just screams low self-esteem.

T-WAC