You Can Tell From My Face That I’m Not Interested

, , , , , , | Working | April 19, 2019

(Our mall is full of kiosks with people trying to sell random makeup brands, cell phone accessories, etc. I don’t begrudge anyone doing their job, and I understand a lot of them are under pressure to make sales. However, some of them REALLY need to work on their pitch. One day, I’m walking past a kiosk where a woman is trying to sell expensive skin cream.)

Saleswoman: “Here you go, ma’am! Sit down right here.” *pointing to her chair arranged in front of her mirrors*

Me: *smiling and shaking my head* “No, thanks. I’m not interested.”

Saleswoman: *pulls a concerned, comically disgusted face and speaks in a tone of voice as if I were on my deathbed* “Oh, ma’am, I have to ask… What do you use for your facial cream?”

(Maybe I should have been offended or something, which is what my husband told me, but it was just SUCH an incredibly bad attempt to, I don’t know, neg me into a sale or whatever that I just burst into disbelieving laughter at her and kept walking. She turned bright red and glared at me. Hey, maybe I COULD use a fancy skincare regimen, but with a sales pitch like that, there was no way I was going to buy it from her.)

It’s A Small, Small World, But Not That Small

, , , , , , | Related | April 18, 2019

It was summer and we were loading up to go to Disneyland. My son was six years old and was very excited to see Mickey Mouse.

En route, we found a mall to stop for a bathroom and a chance to stretch our legs.

There was a little play area in the mall with the kiddie rides where you put in a quarter and it bounces you around for thirty seconds. We decided to let the kid have fun because we’d been sitting for a while and he probably needed to blow off some steam.

About ten minutes later, he came up, hugged us both and said, “Thanks for taking me to Disneyland. It was fun even though I didn’t get to meet Mickey Mouse.”

It was very tempting to turn around and save several hundred dollars by pretending the play area was Disneyland, but we continued on our way.

He was even more impressed with the real Disneyland.

And yes, he did meet Mickey Mouse.

Too Much Sunshine Leaves You In A State

, , , , | Right | April 12, 2019

(My wife participates in a mom-and-child fitness program that incorporates the stroller and nursery songs and games for the kids to get them involved in fitness. They don’t have a storefront, but instead, classes meet at malls, parks, and shopping centers around town. Since they’re a business dealing with small children, they are very strict on passersby taking pictures. During warm-ups one day, a woman in a heavily-bedazzled denim jacket and matching jeans shows up and starts taking photos.)

Instructor: “Ma’am, please don’t take photos of us. We are a franchise and do not allow it.”

Denim Clad Woman: “Oh, it’s okay. I’m from Florida.”

(She promptly walked off, leaving everyone in the circle scratching their heads in between squats.)

Bad Grandpa Meets Grand Theft Auto

, , , , , | Related | March 29, 2019

(I’m observing this interaction occurring between an elderly man in a wheelchair and a little girl who looks to be no older than two or three.)

Little Girl: “Grampa, I tired! I don’t want to walk anymore!”

Elderly Man: “Okay. Give me your hand.”

(He helps her climb up into his wheelchair and places her in his lap.)

Little Girl: *in a creepy voice* “Now, run everyone else over!”

Not Up-Lifting Examples Of Humanity

, , , , , | Friendly | March 13, 2019

One summer I fell over quite badly, resulting in a severely sprained ankle. For about two months I was on crutches, with my lower left leg encased in a solid, bulky, black boot for support and protection. I had physio appointments at the city centre hospital, after which I usually went to the food court in the shopping centre on my way home.

This shopping centre has two main levels with stairs, escalators, and lifts between them both. The food court is on the first floor, overlooking an entertainment and display area on the ground floor. I couldn’t handle stairs at that time, for obvious reasons, and I was wary of trying to go up the escalators on crutches, as well. This meant I had to use the lifts, an experience I usually try to avoid.

One time, I went to the lift nearest the entrance where I came into the shopping centre. I was tired and wanted to sit down, and I knew there were seats near the lift upstairs. There were about half a dozen parents with pushchairs waiting to use a lift that can carry four at a time, so I knew I’d have to wait. The first group went up, and while waiting for it to come back down another pair of pushchair-wielding mothers joined us.

When the lift opened again, these new arrivals physically pushed me out of the way in order to get in the lift first. “Mothers before cripples,” one announced, with the other rebutting, “She’s probably faking it, anyway.” The lift was gone before I could get back up off the floor.

On another post-physio visit, I decided to use the lift nearer the food court. Like the other lift, it can hold four pushchairs with accompanying adults. There was only one pushchair waiting when I limped over. The lift arrived, disgorged its occupants, and the man with the pushchair got in and immediately turned the pushchair sideways across the entrance. He was completely blocking it, preventing me from getting in the lift myself. He didn’t explain himself or say anything; he just blocked me from getting into the lift so he could have it to himself.

After those two incidents, I started coming into the centre via the street entrance of one of the shops, and using their lifts to get up to the first floor instead of hoping that the centre lifts would be usable first time.

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