The Shoddy Bop

Red-eye flight out of SF last night, delayed by two hours. Got into Dulles with enough time to change out of my jammies into work clothes and brush my teeth in the airport bathroom. Nearly got killed by a taxi driver who was more fascinated with his sparkly, beepy, new GPS system (fully equipped with a sultry woman narrator) than the concept of actually driving. Badly in need of a new taxi driver and a cup of coffee at that exact moment, but pulled through. Now status-post full work day at the National Cancer Institute. A little worn. But still giggling over the little laughable incident I had yesterday just hours before getting on the plane...

I noticed as I was packing that I was running low on my seaweed face wash, really the only product to which I am truly loyal. I’ll sell out for a cheaper mascara or a hand lotion on blue light special, but I stand by my seaweed face wash. Something about the algae in it has me convinced it’s got magical properties to successfully combat the occasional zit I’d otherwise get as well as the wrinkles that my looming 30’s threaten to bring. Could be voodoo. But it’s voodoo that leaves me feeling fresh, clean, footloose, zit- and wrinkle-free. (So there.)

So anyway, I went to the store that sells said magical seaweed concoction. A "little known" chain store that vends an assortment of creams, shampoos, lotions, glosses, blushes, rubs, polishes etc. in an assortment of unnatural and nauseating fruit and floral scented combinations. Why anyone would want to smell like a vanilla bean with a citrus twist is beyond me. (To attract ants?) Thus, for fear of coming out smelling like a fruit tart, I tend to keep my visits to this place short and sweet. Strategically planned: I had four minutes left on the parking meter when I walked into the place. Perfect.

Upon entrance to the pungent palace, I was immediately assaulted by the excruciatingly helpful store attendant with far too much make-up on. (Surely the management didn’t suggest that she attempt to advertise EVERY make-up product in the store all at once?!)

“Would you like to try a smidge of this new vanilla bean lotion…it’s got a new citrus twist?” Miss More-is-Better asked through a pair of vermillion lips painted outside of the lines.

No thanks, I nodded. I made a beeline for the back of the store, grabbed the product I wanted and headed for the cashier. Miss More-is-Better joined me.

“Will this be all for today?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“There aren’t any other products from this line you’d like to sample,” she smiled painfully and revealed a set of teeth that had tragically gotten lipsticked as well.

“No thanks, just this face wash. I really like it though.”

“Oh, I absolutely WORSHIP it,” she crooned. Then, with a sideways smile, a smarmy wink and in a new tone that suggested I’d completely relate, “but I tried to use this face wash, and, you know, since it’s for oily skin and all, it just TOTALLY dried me out.”

Wow. Way to sell a product, lady. (I mean, seriously, did she think I was buying this for one of my greasy friends?)

I’d already signed the receipt by then, so I simply said...

“Well, since I’m about as oily as a greased-up pig at a county fair, it works just splendidly for me!”

The vermillion lips fell back down into neutral position over the lipsticked teeth. And with my seaweed face wash for NORMAL to oily skin (I checked), I high-tailed it out of the pungent palace…you know, so as not to soil anything with all the slippery muck weeping from my pores.

* * *

Right. Now off to meet up with a friend from my high school days that I haven't seen in AGES.