Attacked By An Idiom

I suffer from terribly dry hands in winter, so bad that without constant lotion, my skin cracks and bleeds. Today I forgot to reapply before heading out, and by mid-afternoon, my knuckles and pinkies are a bloody mess.

I pass by a kiosk that sells high-priced skin care products, and the women there are trying to flag down people with samples of lotion in order to pitch their items. I decide I’m desperate enough for a little relief to deal with their sales pitch so I can get a free sample of lotion on my hands.

Me: “I could use some lotion. My hands are really chapped.”

I hold out my hands, expecting her to tear open the sample dose of lotion she’s holding and squirt it onto my skin. However, she takes a look at my cracked and bloody fingers and gasps in horror.

Woman: “Oh no, sir, we need to use our best product for you.”

She puts the lotion packet down and picks up a wide-mouth jar of something coarse and greasy. 

She has me hold my hands over a metal bowl, scoops some stuff out of the jar, and starts rubbing it on my hands.

Woman: “This is made from salt taken from the Dead Sea. Doesn’t it feel amazing?”

Me: *Calmly but emphatically.* “To be honest, it stings like hell because you are literally rubbing salt into my wounds. Could you please wash that off? Quickly?”

Her eyes go wide when she realizes what she’s doing, and she sprays my hands off with a spray bottle as fast as she can. 

She still tried to get me to buy that overpriced oily salt.