Written by Emily
The painful truth is that when I was a high school teacher, I taught my students all about persuasion. I did entire units on the topic. We analyzed arguments and dissected advertisements. I know this stuff. I see through all of the tactics salesmen and women use, but I still bite because, well, I’m a sucker.
But I’m not alone…
A friend asked me if I bought anything on our anniversary trip to Key West. “Nah,” I replied too embarrassed to tell her the truth.
It happened like this:
“Hey, Miss America!”
Naturally I turned around to see her. Oh, he was talking to me. Ridiculously transparent. Like a magician’s slight of hand, he put a sample in my palm. Don’t need it. Be strong, Emily. And then I found myself sitting in a lovely leather chair in a salon that’s nothing more than an upgraded mall kiosk. Crap.
But I had my man with me this time. There’s power in numbers. And we could totally take this little man with an adorable accent and an unbelievable knowledge of my every skincare dilemma.
It was so innocent at first.
“I see you have sensitive skin.” I do. I do have sensitive skin!
And then he was rubbing a grainy gel on my forearm. Kind of gross.
As he wiped it away, he asked, “What’s this?” Layers of the product and probably dead skin peeled away. Gross.
I don’t know, I shrugged.
“Oh you dirty girl.”
Wait is calling me dirty?! To my face?! I showered more in Key West than I had for the last month when I was home with my children.
He laughed and turned to my man, “I kid. I kid.”
He then proceeded to massage my arm with moisturizer. It was nice…my skin.
I looked at the price of this miracle exfoliant. OUTRAGEOUS. I laughed. I did. I turned to my husband and gave him the “get me out of here” look.
Apparently this salesman had seen that look before.
“Your problem areas? Gone in a week,” he promised staring directly at the pimple on my forehead. Of course it will be gone in a week, my period was coming and this is my happy reminder.
He asked my man to feel my skin. It was remarkably soft.
Bait dancing in the water. Was that a nod from my hubs?
The salesman proceeded to reel us in like an expert angler. Face-to-face with this little devil, even my boo was a goner.
“How old?” the skin care expert asked me.
Never ask a woman her age, I thought and huffed in mock insult. “33,” I said out loud.
You don’t look a day over 40 said his face. Whaaa?
Then he turned to my main squeeze – “and I throw this in for you for free.” Reeling. Reeling.
Did he motion to my husband’s eye area? Crows feet? Seriously? I had to giggle.
We were going to be so out of there.
And then he turned to me: “Try. Come in tomorrow we work on eyes.”
Ouch. He should see my dark eye circles after a week at home. This? This was as good as it gets.
We left with our egos bruised and beaten, our wallets thinner. And a bag containing three products (for the price of one–not even).
The only benefit to that abuse is this:
I’ve uncovered my man’s weakness, his Achilles’ Heel. So…my birthday is coming up…Friday, actually, so we have to move fast. I’d be happy to send you his name, email and our address to anyone out there in diamond sales.