Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Ding Dong, The Avon Lady
Mr. Bitchford and I were searching for the perfect mechanical pencil in Target. We were completely engrossed in our search, and it took me a minute to realize a woman was talking to me. She asks, "Is that your real hair color?" Seriously, lady. Does it look like my real hair color? Can you not see the two inches of root that I haven't had the time to cover yet? I tell her that it is not my real hair color. I'm actually a natural blonde, but I keep my hair very dark. I'm weird like that. So, she tells me that she loves my hair cut. I say thank you. She asks where I go to get it done. I tell her. She then tells me I have beautiful eyes. Hmmm. Was she hitting on me? Nope. She sells Mary fuckin' Kay! Bitch actually asked me for my home phone number, so she could give me a free makeover. Free makeover? You just told me I had nice hair and beautiful eyes. You also asked the one question that all born and raised Eastwickeans ask me. "You're not from here, are you?" No, bitch, I'm not. Who would give this woman her home phone number? She straight up gave me some fake ass compliments in order to make some fast cash off of me. In the words of Whitney Houston, hell to the no, lady.
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4 comments:
You should have kicked her in the crotch and run like hell.
Hey, it works for me!
I'm a MK sales aldy and if you ever read some of the crap the directors send us about approaching complete strangers...you'd think we were in pervert training.
It's called warm-chatter. They actually suggest casually holding the cashiers hand as you give her money and then telling her how smooth her hands are in order to sell some hand creams.
I don't buy into that crap. I sell it to my family and friends at a discounted rate so that I too can get the 50%discount.
The make up works for me, I like it. I also like to by it cheap, lol.
My mom has sold it for years. I get it for free! No way am I going to buy some. Warm chatter? That sounds a little dirty.
Warm chatter sounds like the sound a golden shower might make . . .
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