Retail therapy

Do you know those stalls that deposit themselves in the middle of shopping centres and usually have all sorts of useless expensive gadgetry that no one buys, or are manned by an old gentleman in a spotless suit and with a bad leg, that inadvertently but unequivocally reminds you of your grandfather, selling kitchens that cost 10K and you always end up feeling you must purchase the kitchen just so that he can pay his
gas bill...?
I am usually great at dodging the best hair streightner, the one that heats up well over 300 degrees Celsius in order not just to straighten your hair but to break it in half through melting, the watercolours that can make any child an artistic genius if only you invested 50 pounds in your kid, aromatherapy cushions that one can heat in a microwave (what an invention, although I cannot think why one would do that), magic hair clip that can instantaneously transform your life because it is offering versatility by allowing you to create no less than 37 styles, pulsating back massage pad that can easily catch fire if left on too long, but can't actually help your back at all, talking dog collar that will soothe your pet as you leave it alone for days on end, as it can be programed to speak to it in your own voice, gel that one can use instead of water for freshly cut flowers that looks beautiful yet when swallowed by an animal or a small child, will cause slow and painful death with cholera like symptoms.

I often pride myself on not being easily led by others and I have realised that the worst thing one can do when passing the array of desperate stall salesmen whose pay is 100% commision and who have not actually made it in life because they would at least work in a proper shop, is to make eye contact or hesitate in any way while walking by.
However, knowing that, yesterday, I managed to get myself totally swept by one of them. In my defence, I was in a gregarious mood and David Bowie was singing Ashes to ashes on my i-pod, which happens to be one of my favourite songs of all time. I also think he was the devil in disguise, he barely glanced at me passing by, called me madam, requested to see my nails and without waiting for me to extend my hand, he took it himself, inspected it for barely a fraction of a second and all of a sudden the nail varnish was wiped off my nails and he was polishing my nail with some wonder buffer sponge...all under 10 seconds.
And he was mesmerising in a scary way, all I managed to say while he led me to his stool as he worked on my nail was: " I won't buy anything" and he reassured me that it was OK, he just wanted me to know how great my nails could look because I am a very nice, attractive lady. I deserve it.
Looking back, I know where I went wrong. Upon seeing how shiny my nail has become after he has applied this wonder nail tool, I silently uttered 'wow' under my breath and that was enough.
He had a very suave and confident manner that was flawless in its directness, which his workmates lacked.
And then he started with the sales pitch; wonder nail sponge, cutticle oil, nail file and Ocean hand cream, usually 40 pounds but now only 25.
I chuckled, and assured him that I have never spent 25 pounds on my nails in one go. He smiled back and argued his point with eloquence and in an interesting accent; pointing out to me that with this product I won't ever have the need to purchase another nail varnish ever again.
I pointed out to him that to a housewife whose nails are bad and who has no time to varnish between breastfeeding and raising 4 children, this would be ideal, but to me, a person that paints nails to go with outfits, bags and scarves and whose love of glitter surpasses most magpies, this statement meant very little.
Still, he is not backing down so he tries different perspective, that of cost. How much I'd save on nail varnish in the long run, asking me how much they cost me and how long they lasted and I, of course, downplayed the expenditure and increased durability and longevity because by that point, I wanted him to suffer because his smooth manner and white smile irritated me and he brought painful memories of bad double glazing salesmen as well as the guy that fitted my bathroom. I wasn't just arguing my point with him; in my mind I was defending innocent people everywhere, against force and manipulative tactics that are employed against those disadvantaged few that have, from birth, been afflicted with compulsion to buy gimmicks even though they often cannot explain why.

But all of a sudden, somewhere between the demonstration and this point, it became personal.
He upped the ante. He said that for me, he is going to let it go for 20. I didn't even bat an eyelid and I assured him that I just bought one of those tools in Boots for 2.40 and would not be spending 10 times as much on his product. He insisted I show him, which I did. He smiled arrogantly and called my buffer a toy and urged me to open it and buff my nail with it and if it becomes as shiny as his tool made my other nail, he will give me the set for free.
I am not that unintelligent, I knew that the cheapest buffer from Boots is not going to make it against his product and I started to look for ways of excusing myself.
He quickly realised that I am slipping away, and then he got really crazy and intense. He offered me a pack for 15 pounds and when I stayed unimpressed, he lost it and said;
" Here have it for a pound."
This instantly scared me. I shy away from men that are intense in that way, where they think they ought to win at all costs, whose belief is that no really means yes, but you are just being modest...well, this chap had that intensity in common with most rapists.
I wanted to leave and looked around me to see what my escape route would be.
He follows my chain of thought and gets more extreme: " Here, have it for free." he says, his eyes glaring.
" No thanks ", I say.
" Have my wallet with it! " he responds quickly and takes his wallet out of his pants and adds to the box set.
Uncomfortably I look at his colleagues, and one of them looks back not sure what is going on. We are both in the dark here.
" No thanks " I say, squirming and trying to leave.
He moves in front of me forcing me to stop and says: " Have my shoe too!"
And then the most wonderfully crazy thing happens, he actually takes his boot off, takes the box with nail crap and his wallet and sticks it all in it like an arrangement and offers it to me.
And he has a face, hopping on one foot, face that says, see, you won't beat me.
Meanwhile, I start feeling true fear and I begin thinking that this must be some sort of Borat movie and with pleading eyes I turn to him and say slowly: " Please let me go."
" Fine ", he hisses, puts his shoe on and his wallet in his pocket.
" This was foolish of you ", he says; " I have 100 pounds in my wallet and it could have been yours."
I start to leave but he lounges towards me again, blocking me.
" Do you use face masks? " he asks in an even tone.
" Yes " I say impatiently.
" What kind, what brand? "
" Nivea."
" And how much do they cost?" he asks, and I, primed by his earlier cost analysis say: " About 90 pence "
He smirks with ultimate evil in his eyes and says: "Boy you spend a lot on yourself..."
Then he unleashes his fury against Nivea, rubbishing its products and glorifying his own brand (one that no one has ever heard of, may I add...)
And this is where I lost it, where all bets were suddenly off.
Those that know me well, know by now that my loyalty is my best feature and unfortunately for this guy, Nivea has been almost the only thing I can consistently use and not get an allergic reaction to, so naturally I get a bit stressed.
I want to go at this point and he is still stopping me and now he starts saying that I don't trust him, how now, even if I wanted to pay full 40 pounds he would not sell me the wonder product because I don't trust him, because when he was offering it to me for free I refused it.
I have had enough by that point so I bite back and I ask him would he give it to me for free if I wanted to take it? He says of course not, he needs to make money. I say there, that is why I didn't trust you.
" No, no, it is not like that...you are just not a very trusting person..." he analyses.
Cheap therapy, I think, why pay a fortune for psychodynamic counselling when you can engage in a free conversation with this man?
" Why? Because I don't wanna buy your wonder buff? " I ask him.
" It is not about that." he continues...
" What is it about? " I ask.
He shrugs his shoulders in a manner that suggests that I wouldn't understand and he says, beaten: " Go home and play with your toy. " meaning my cheap buffer from Boots.
This angers me, and I think, what have I done to this man, and is this even allowed, that you get traumatised while indulging in retail therapy.
But equally I am blissful he is letting me go and I prepare to go. He stops me again though and says:
" You don't know what you are missing, I can guarantee this product for 6 months while your file will break in a week."
And if I move left, he does too, if I move right, so does he...I am trapped with this lunatic in the middle of shopping centre on a way to Gap, I can't believe it...

Those that often laugh at me for watching too much Sex and the city, over and over again, drawing all my love lessons from it and making all my friends hooked on it... could now safely eat their words.
As I was trapped, listening to this weird individual, I remembered an episode in which Samantha turns into a lesbian and has a relationship with Portuguese artist, and in the middle of the night, one of Samantha's drunken fuck buddies comes over and won't leave and pleads with them to make him a sandwich etc...and while Samantha is polite, Maria, her lover loses it all of a sudden and says: " get away from the door motherfucker before I call the cops."
I soon realise that the only way to get rid of him is to try this line, so I smile politely, get really close to his face, and I see his face softening, almost in hope that finally I have realised my foolishness and I say quietly in his ear: " Move away from me motherfucker or I will start screaming."
He moves back, surprised at first, it shocked him because I delivered it slowly and calmly and quietly so that only him and I could hear it, no witnesses...this makes him instantly suspicious of me, even though one can also clearly see that he is used to abuse.
A quick moment of thought goes through his head, he quickly calculates his luck and then he moves to the side to let me go.

I get away without further fuss but not before I lose all will to ever be civil to another human being connected to a retail outlet of some sort.