the mall.

I hate the mall. I used to like Hanes Mall, back before I lived here, when I lived in a town whose mall boasted a dozen stores, half of them furniture outlets. Hanes Mall was a treat, because it was big and shiny and had actual stores. But now the honeymoon is over, and I, like a true Forsyth County resident, avoid going there whenever possible.

They've started this new thing at the mall. There have always been those little booths in the middle of the walkway on the bottom floor. Mall booths always sell the same sorts of things: jewelry and cell phones. Recently, I've noticed that they started having these booths that sell some sort of fingernail or hand care products. The salesmen are pushy. They scan the crowds as the people amble by, and the salesmen pick out the most likely targets. Unfortunately, I seem to fall in that category.

Obviously, they target women. Fine. And they probably target younger women, or at least women who look like they maybe sorta care about their appearance. Apparently, the woman doesn't look like she has to care much, because I'm usually all decked out in thrift store clothes with my hair up in a messy ponytail and no makeup. Maybe if I started going to the mall right after waking up with my hair all natted out and wearing painters' overalls, they'd leave me alone. But no, it's always an eager approach and a request to see my hand. Do not be fooled! These men are not going to propose, nor are they going to tell you how lovely your eyes are, shining in the bright Hanes Mall lights. They just want to sell you crap.

I try to say no before they ask. I try to look the other way. I try to pretend that I did not hear them. I try to walk faster, but those fellows will actually chase you and tackle you (okay, not really).

The cell phone guys are pushy, too, but it's much easier to lie to them. I just tell them that my mother still pays for my wireless phone, and the conversation is pretty much over, because wireless service is very cheap indeed when someone else pays for it. I am an honest girl, but I have no qualms about lying to salespeople. But what do I tell the hand guys? "I'm sorry, I don't have any hands, and I'm very sensitive about it." Maybe I should try that, all the while being sure to make sure my hands are in full view.

Last night, I gave in. I let the guy see my hand. My nails aren't bad, just neglected. I've managed to quit biting them so much and even my cuticles look relatively decent half the time. So the guy didn't shudder or anything, but he dragged me over to his little hand booth, promising that it would not take more than ten seconds, and picked up what looked like a chalkboard eraser. He began to buff my middle nail with the three different sides of the block, all the while describing how each side worked to improve the appearance and health of my nails. He had a lovely accent, European, I think. It kept me from understanding every single thing he said, but he was talking nail science (which sounded pretty dubious when I managed to understand), and I probably wouldn't have understood it anyway. Then he was all done with that one nail, and he allowed me to inspect.

Shiny!

Okay, fine, yes, the nail was a lot prettier. It was smooth, and it glistened in the early evening fluorescent light. That little block was pretty neat, though I suspected I could get something at Wal-Mart that performed a similar service. But I was impressed, so I asked the man how much for the little nail-shiner. He, sensing weakness, ignored my question and then put a tiny drop of some sort of liquid on my nail that was supposed to make my cuticle disappear. I wondered if it was just some sort of acid that was going to eat my flesh, but apparently it was more like an oil that just disguised my cuticle. I also wondered whether "cuticle" was a regular vocabulary word for people trying to learn English.

I asked him how much again, and he showed me the little kit, complete with the block and the cuticle oil and some sort of body lotion in the thick plastic carrying case. He told me that they usually sell it for $59.99, but today, for me, it was only $29.99.

You've got to be kidding me.

I think I might have laughed as I said no way. Sensing he had a tough customer, he suddenly knocked the price down to $19.99 and added a year guarantee. Less than two dollars a month, he said! Not a chance, brother. I hated to let him down, with his pretty accent and his nail-shining device, but there's no way that I'm going to spend twenty bucks on a part of my body that I had been satisfied to neglect for free up until then. I felt bad for him as I walked away with my one very shiny fingernail. Undoubtedly, he works on commission. He came all the way over from Europe to learn English and sell nail products at a booth in the mall to Southern women with too much money. He probably hates the mall, too.