It was a Sunday afternoon. We were walking the mall with our new friends and attempting to conquer every store there. It seemed as if every person in the city was shopping that afternoon. The kiosk agents knew it would be a lucrative day and were ready for anyone daring to pass within the vicinity of their turf. I had always gone out of my way to avoid those little shops on wheels, but this day proved to be very different.
I saw him looking my way with a smile and a hello ready to fall from his lips. "No way." I thought. "You are not going to sucker me into anything. I am stronger than that." I started my usual steering away process that had served me so well in times past.
He said, "Good afternoon. I was wondering if I could borrow a minute of your time and share something with you."
Not an unusual statement. It was polite and simple, but nothing amazing.
What grabbed my attention was his accent and voice. He spoke with a decidedly Hebrew accent, his voice soft but firm.
He wanted to show me wonderful products created with Dead Sea Minerals that would change my hands, nails, and life forever.
I could have walked away. I knew it was a sales pitch. But on that day I didn't walk away. I listened, I participated, and shamefully I purchased. I really did. I bought a kit for $25, a kit that contained mostly things I already owned.
Me, normally frugal and conservative, I don't even give my hands much thought, and here I was with a special kit.
How could I do such a thing? Was it the product? Not in the least. It was him.
He had asked if he could show me how the product worked. When I consented, he gently took my hand in his and slowly buffed, lotioned, and oiled the daily traumas out of my first nail. All the while that he performed his magic, his 6 foot 3 inch stature was positioned close to me so that he could speak softly into my ear, talking to me about the importance of caring for myself. He said I mattered and must remember to care for the inner and outer beauty that is me.
All the while this was happening, my brain was screaming at me on the inside, "You are being a Class A sucker! Walk away! It is a gimmick...a ploy! You are a smart girl and you certainly know better than this. He doesn't care about you. He cares about his sales. It probably isn't even a real accent....and WHY are you letting a stranger hold your hand you idiot!"
My emotions, caught up in the allure of the moment, betrayed me and refused to listen to the voice of reason. Even as I was agreeing with my mind and thoughts, my hand was reaching into my pruse to pay for my new products.
Every time I sit down to buff up my nails, I think about the above scenario. My thoughts vary from character learning to blushing to a bit of embarrassment to a small smile.
Okay, so I am out $25. At least I have great hands.
(note to self: Honorable mention of blog post of the day by David. Oh my goodness!)